


Selenite & Moonstone

by sadeisjaded



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Girl Power, Good Theodore Nott, Hufflepuff, Hufflepuff Common Room, Hufflepuff Pride, Hufflepuff/Slytherin Inter-House Relationships, Luna Lovegood & Draco Malfoy Friendship, Minor Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Original Character(s), Pining Draco Malfoy, Protective George Weasley, Top Cedric Diggory, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:36:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 23
Words: 67,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29361153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sadeisjaded/pseuds/sadeisjaded
Summary: He knew why she felt familiar.He made her. He dreamed her.She was the girl he had devised in his brain using the bits and pieces he liked from other girls. He had sculpted her out of marble and carved her out of clay.She was his pipe dream. Except now she was standing there-real as ever.And he couldn't have her. He had to come to terms with the fact that he could never have her.He had to deny his true thoughts and feelings until he wasn't denying anymore.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 15
Kudos: 18





	1. Prologue

✶

_"Intuition is always right_  
_in at least two important ways:_  
_It is always in response to something._  
_It always has your best interest at heart."_

Gavin De Becker

✶

The triumphant melody of the Hogwarts' March would never again fall on her ears quite the same. Not after the sounds of unwitting revelry, Fleur's blood-curdling shrieks, Mr. Diggory's wails of anguish, and Harry's admonition, "He's back! Voldemort's back!" were combined and forever etched upon its victorious notes.

Alena watched in horror as her grandfather made his way through the crowd and tried to peel Harry's arms from Cedric's unresponsive body. The world moved in slow-motion as she fell back into her seat and realized that her friend was dead. Cedric Diggory was dead.

She felt a heavy storm build up behind her eyes, but only managed to release a few beads of tears. Her breathing became increasingly fast—until suddenly, she could not breathe at all.

_I knew something bad was going to happen. I knew, and I did nothing to stop it. I've seen this before._

Mr. Diggory had been screaming for a couple of seconds, but Alena felt as though she'd been hearing his agonizing cries for hours. He was torn to pieces, shattered to shards, broken to fragments as he cradled Cedric's lifeless body in his arms like a baby. Alena felt his endless despair creep into her skin and burn her from the inside. She did not want it, she did not summon it, but it pervade her without permission.

A father's grief.

She held her hands up to her ears and gasped for air. As soon as she managed to get a single bluster of breath into her lungs, she ran and ran, away from the chaos and sorrow into the nearby forest. She grabbed onto a tree and retched violently several times through uncontrollable sobs. Her body jerked and wrenched itself so aggressively that she thought she might throw up her entire soul. Her sobs escalated to loud weeps forced through gnashed teeth.

_How can I fix this? What can I do? What can I do?_

There was nothing. There was no way to bring Cedric back from the dead. He was gone.

All she could do was wait for her grandfather to complete his headmaster duties so she could finally cry into his shoulder and feel some sort of comfort. She dropped to her knees onto a thick blanket of snow and cried into her own hands for the meantime. They were blotchy and burning from the cold.

She heard the crushing sounds of running footsteps on the snow approaching her, but she didn't have the will nor the strength to look up.

"Lovegood! Are you alright?" Someone kneeled beside her and gently cupped her face into his shivering hands.

Alena quickly jerked her face out of his hold and hurled again into the ground next to him. He gathered her long, lazy curls away from her face and made circles with his closed palm over her back.

"Just breathe. Breathe. It's okay, breathe," he said in a soothing voice.

His calmness enraged her. His presence confused and vexed her. Draco Malfoy was not her friend. In fact, he had become a constant aggressor. For the past several weeks he had been increasingly hostile in his attacks—verbally insulting her, starting rumours about her, and even digging his wand into her neck once.

She wasn't a victim to him. Every abuse from Draco had been gracefully returned back to him in some form or another, and she was only beginning to suspect that he wanted it.

There had been one instance in the Astronomy Tower, however, in which he'd found her crying alone and managed to show an inkling of concern for her.

It was different in the forest. It was far more than an inkling.

She looked at him, doe-eyed and defeated.  
"It's okay? It's okay? C-cedric is dead, Draco. He's dead—d-did you see him?" She questioned him through hitched breaths. "He's... dead." She was shaking.

"I know, I'm sorry," he removed his jacket and carefully wrapped her in it, then hugged her, covering her head with his hands over his chest. "Let me take you back to the castle. You can't stay out here by yourself." He clenched his jaw to keep his teeth from jittering.

His eyes looked like two full moons. She looked into them with pools of tears resting over her own that spilled over when she blinked.

"W-why are you here? Why are you holding me?" She cried. He didn't respond. He only pulled her closer into him, her face burying itself into his neck.

She was broken. She felt responsible for Cedric's death. If only she would know how to properly use her accumency ability. If only she hadn't been afraid to come clean to her grandfather about her use of the obscure branch of magic. If only she'd been able to discern exactly what she felt when she watched Cedric enter his name into the Goblet.

Perhaps he wouldn't be dead.

As Draco's and Alena's bodies pressed closer against each other, she felt a round, metal object inside her shirt. With a quick jolt, she peeled herself away from Draco's grip and yanked at the collar of her shirt. She pulled at the necklace that was tucked inside until she reached the gold pendant.

Draco looked at her in astonishment, his brows pleated together drawing out his panic. "Lovegood, why do you have a time-turner?"

She stared blankly at the device in her hand and then back at him. His face was riddled with concern, hers—with enlightenment and sudden determination.

He could feel her body tremble to the beat of her heart rate and he watched as her pupils enlarged and consumed the color out of her irises—the blue, the green, the yellow; gone. He tucked his hands beneath her ears and her head swung back. She seemed to be in a trance.

"Hey," Draco said alarmingly as he shook her. "Hey—what's going on? What is it?" He could see shadows and images swirling in her eyes.

"Lovegood..."

With a couple of blinks Alena's tri-colored eyes returned to a certain normalcy.

"I have to go," she whispered. "I have to go back."

"No," he said, as he realized what she was intending. "You can't. You can't possibly be thinking—"

She picked herself up of the ground, ready to run all the way to the castle—but he quickly grabbed both of her arms with a protective grip.

"I can't let you do this, Lovegood! Please, this is mad! You'll get hurt, you'll end up like Diggory!" His tightened his grip on her.

"I know you think I'm useless, Malfoy. But you have no idea what I'm capable of," she jerked and twisted her small frame away, but Draco was overpowering. " _You're_ the one that's hurting me! Stop, let go of me! I have to go! I have to at least try!" She was too weak from the grief—and from throwing up everything in her system.

"No, I'm sorry—It's too dangerous! You heard Potter, he's back," He let go of her arms and gripped her by the waist. "It's too dangerous. He'll kill you."

"Since when do you f-fucking care?" She made her hands into fists and struck him on the shoulders multiple times. "Let go of me, Malfoy! You can't do this, you can't be holding me like this!"

"I can't let go, I can't let go. Something terrible could happen to you," he drew her head under his chin. "You're not thinking straight."

Alena dropped to her knees again, her loud sobs filling the cold, winter air. Draco pulled on her arms and wrapped them around himself as he dropped to his knees before her.

"W-why won't you leave me alone?" She struck him on the chest softly. His skin was stone cold against her burning body.

Draco sighed as he brushed her cheek with his thumb. He tucked a few of her silver locks behind her ear and kissed her on the forehead.

"Because..."

"Because I just can't let anything bad happen to you," he whispered. "I don't know why. I just can't."

Alena kept her eyes closed and succumbed to him. She simply cried quietly into his shoulder without another word and allowed him to console her for a while. He was gentle as he caressed her lazy curls and wiped away her endless stream of tears every few minutes.

It was the very first time he held her in his arms. He had observed her with so much intent and fierce attention that she sometimes seemed to be moving in slow motion before his eyes. Every bounce of every curl, every muscle and line in her face, every gesture and movement—he was an expert. He'd fought against every desire to stretch out his hands and touch her every time she stood within his reach, but he knew it was a fight he would one day lose. It was only a matter of time, and finally, he'd lost.

Her mind was still determined to go complete a task that felt like destiny. The more time elapsed, the more dangerous it would become. She had to find Harry and ask him what exactly had happened.

As Draco held her in his arms, it dawned on her. All semester long, she'd thought it was Draco's hateful and wicked energy she'd been reading through her uncontrolled accumency. All those times in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, and a few times in the library—it had been Professor Moody. It was Moody who swept Harry away after he emerged from the maze clung onto Cedric's corpse. It was Moody who had antagonized her in her nightmares.

Her intuition had been warning her every day, and it was no use. She didn't know how to use it properly, and it had cost Cedric's safety.

She had no choice, but to try and save him.

"Come on, it's freezing out here. Let me take you to Luna. She's probably worried about you and she'll take better care of you than me," Draco said into her ear. He kissed her head a few times before helping her up.

Alena took Draco's hand, inadvertently feeling the scabs and tender scars she had given him just a few days prior. He had deserved it.

They walked slowly through the thick snow, Draco's arms around Alena's sides to help her trudge through. They had to stop a few times as Alena continued to retch—but hardly anything would come out. Her eyes were blood-shot and her temples were protruding. Her lips were swollen, her hair tousled. And still she was the loveliest witch he had ever seen. He wanted to keep her.

"Draco," she said as they reached the castle. He stopped and inspected her.

"Are you alright?" He asked.

"Thanks... for staying with me out there. And for bringing me back to the castle."

"Should I walk you to the infirmary? You look unwell," he offered politely.

"No, that's fine. I've inconvenienced you enough. I'll just head to my dorm and wait for my grandfather to summon me."

They stood facing each other awkwardly; Draco wishing he had the words to provide her with even a shred of comfort, and Alena wishing Draco would soon allow her out of his sight.

She reached for his hand.

"The war has just begun," she said softly. "And we're on opposite sides of the barricade."

"Yes. Yes, we are," he brought her hand up to his lips and kissed her knuckles, his eyes never leaving hers. Then, he gently placed her hand back at her side.

As soon as Draco vanished into a separate corridor, Alena sprinted through the castle towards the Turris Magnus tower and into the second floor corridor. She didn't stop until she broke through the doors of Moody's office. Her grandfather had a tight grip on Harry, and Professor Snape had his wand deep into Barty Crouch, Jr's face. They all turned to look at her in a jolt.

She felt a similar sensation strike her as soon as she entered the office. The same one she'd felt every day in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

"Harry!" She ran to him and cupped his face in her hands before wrapping her arms around his neck. "I have a time-turner. Tell me where to go," she whispered into his ear.

"You're okay," Harry said in a low voice. "You tried, Lena. You really did."

"Do not say another word, Harry," her grandfather objected.

Alena looked at Harry with furrowed brows while holding him by the shoulders.

"What? Harry—"

The headmaster clenched his jaw and spoke in a slightly elevated, yet calm tone. "Just what do you think you are doing, Alena? You mustn't be here. Students were sent to their dormitories almost an hour ago."

"Harry," Alena pulled the time-turner from inside her shirt and showed Harry, looking at him with desperate eyes.

"You can't bring him back, you stupid girl!" Barty laughed maniacally.

Snape dug his wand deeper into Barty's face and said, "Quiet, you!"

"How could neither of you have known?" Alena looked at Barty Crouch and then up at Snape and her grandfather.

"The cup—it's a Portkey," Harry blurted. "I'm sorry, sir," he apologized to Dumbledore. "It's him, Alena. He's back."

Alena shuddered as her grandfather pulled her out of the room at once.

"Don't let Cedric touch the cup! Don't let him touch the cup!" Harry's cries were muffled behind the closed doors, but she understood him perfectly. "He called Cedric a spare and had him killed without a second thought! Don't touch the cup! Alena! The cup—it took us to a graveyard!"

Alena and her grandfather looked at each other irresolutely for a brief moment before either of them spoke.

"You know I cannot let you go," her grandfather said.

"I've already gone. There's no use in trying to stop me. You could either help me or hinder me," she responded.

It was in that precise moment that he came to regret the amount of power he had entrusted his sixteen-year-old granddaughter with. For the first time ever he questioned whether it had been wise to have taught her as much as he had. But it was done—she was as good as gone and all he could do was trust that he'd taught her well enough to succeed in her plan.

"You mustn't touch the cup. Do you understand? Do not touch the cup."

"I think I must," she replied, looking at him in bewilderment. "You know that."

The platinum-haired witch disapparated with an audible crack.

_She's just a girl._

Just a girl who would do absolutely anything in the world for those she cared for and loved.

He stood helplessly outside of Moody's office for a moment before he went back inside.

"Do you have any idea what you've done, Harry?" He asked disquietingly.

Harry had done exactly what he was meant to do.

Barty chimed in. "That Diggory boy is as dead as Lily and James Potter!"

" _Stupefy_!" Snape spat. Barty's body went limp and fell to the ground.

"As long as she doesn't touch the Portkey, she'll be fine, sir," Harry said with his head lowered.

Snape walked over to Harry and began to threaten him. "If something happens to her, _Potter_ , I swear that the—"

"I don't think you recall how any of this works, Harry," Dumbledore interrupted.

"Why didn't you stop her, Albus?" Snape questioned, with wild irritation in his voice.

"One cannot stop time, Severus."

✶

_Harry emerged from the enchanted hedges of the maze clutching Cedric's limp body, triggering the jubilant sounds of the Hogwarts' March and the joyous celebration from the expectant crowd. Except Harry wouldn't lend himself to the victory they eagerly wanted to pin on him._

_"He's back! Voldemort is back!" He cried as he dropped to his knees. He was incredibly disheveled and his forearm was bleeding profusely. His words triggered gasps of horror all over the stands. "I'm sorry, Professor, I couldn't stop him."_

✶


	2. Dear Harlie / Love, Luna

✶

_Dear Harlie,_

_Words cannot describe how truly delighted I am to hear that you'll be coming back home for good. You're going to absolutely love being a student here at Hogwarts and I can't wait to introduce you to everyone. I wonder what house you'll be sorted into... Well, on second thought, you're probably going to end up choosing it yourself. I'm sure the hat will be stumped trying to sort through the jumbled mess inside your brain!_

_By the way, I hope you've continued practicing accumency while at Ilvermorny—it'll be quite useful here, believe me. Especially with everything that's coming. I know lots of people say its a load of mumbo jumbo, but I've been feeling changes in the atmosphere and seeing all sorts of creatures come out of the woodwork. I swear to Merlin I saw a heliopath racing the wind the other day and nearly set fire to a patch of dry pasture. That can't be good._

_But anyway, I wanted you to know I'll be waiting for you at the entrance of the castle when you arrive. I know how nervous you get with initial introductions and first days. I can't wait to see you and sweet Queenie Weenie._

_Love,_

_Luna_ ♡

_P.S. I really hope you've managed to get some cuttings from the snakewood tree you always tell me about! I'm rather intrigued and would love to study the medicinal properties that surge from a tree that's grown out of a wand with a Basilisk horn core. Why do people have such a hard time believing in Nargles when a tree like that exists?_

_P.P.S. Remember to think positive thoughts every day to keep the Wrackspurts at bay._

_✶_


	3. The Boy on the Carriage

✶ 

_"Dark and light_   
_striking_   
_each other,_   
_vividly etching wild colors_   
_through the horizon._

_The charm of sunset_   
_makes me want_   
_to scurry home."_

Tara Estacaan

✶

She sat in an empty Hogwarts Express compartment with an old book in one hand and a shiny red apple in the other. She'd purposefully traveled to Hogwarts on the day _after_ the first day of term, having begged her grandfather to make an exception for her. Alena was sure that some people at Hogwarts would be less than excited to have a relative of the headmaster as a classmate and wondered just how welcoming everyone would be. It was a much better idea to slip into the castle discreetly—perhaps no one would even notice her arrival this way.

Her grandfather had initially decided to send her to Ilvermorny as a precaution, but somewhere along the way he began to regret his decision. Every week he sent her a letter—and every week he expressed how much he earnestly despised the distance between them. It wasn't typical for students to be allowed to transfer into Hogwarts; however, when you were Albus Dumbledore's granddaughter, exceptions could be made. Especially if it was his idea.

She was reading _The Alchemist_ for the—fourth time? She'd lost count, but it was one of her favorites, especially for occupying her mind during train rides transporting her toward her preordained fate. Unfortunately, she couldn't quite concentrate on this particular ride, as there was an unanticipated feeling in her gut.

The Lovegood girls had been secretly teaching themselves a bit of an obscure branch of magic known as accumency. This magic was similar to divination, but without the prophecies and foretelling; there was no palm, tarot card, or tea leaf reading of any sort. Alena had no interest in foreseeing the future or dabbling into the past. She just wanted to be able to perceive energy from objects and individuals—to have a better understanding of that which surrounded her.

She was born with a natural gift for legilimency, but she felt early on that entering someone's mind was altogether too much of an invasion. It made her feel—icky. Rather than trespassing _into_ people's minds, she preferred to feel and interpret the energies they put out into the world instead. There was no _extracting_ of memories or thoughts; there was only a mere _interpreting_ of a person's stratus, nimbus, aura—whatever it was that they radiated. It was the more ethical alternative to legilimency, she believed, and as soon as she learned how to control her abilities as a legilimens, she had stopped using that field of magic altogether.

Like divination, accumency was seen as a hazy and undefined science. Luna and Alena considered it as more of an abstract art than a precise science, anyway.

Alena had been practicing non-verbal and wandless accumency on her own for some time—but she had not yet completely mastered it this way. She always had to actively and willingly _try_ to use accumency; at least that's what she had experienced so far.

It was different on the train.   
It was unpremeditated.   
It just pervade her without permission or warning.

The receptive witch could sense a fiery conflict in the air around her. She focused on the opalescent water droplets sliding along the surface of her window. Luna always reminded her to fix her eyes onto the nearest natural element when trying to read energies. Her first suspicion was that something she'd brought along with her had been tampered with—perhaps someone had hexed one of her personal belongings. She examined her bag carefully. After a while, she realized it wasn't an object she was feeling, but a person. There was strong contempt being directed at her, but also—there was a tinge of admiration. Aversion and inclination... all at the same time. Perhaps there were two people?

_Homenum Revelio._

She cast a human-presence-revealing spell using only her mind, courtesy of her grandfather's intense teaching methods.

The spell alerted her of the presence of one other person somewhere within the same car as her, not in her direct view. Although the person's energy was causing her a certain discomfort, she didn't feel any sort of danger, so she decided to brush it off for the rest of the ride. Whoever this person was would be revealed to her at some point or another.

✶

Finally, the train came to a halt. Alena sighed and sat for a minute before she gathered her things slowly and made her way to the empty Thestral-drawn carriage. She, of course, greeted the majestic Thestral with a gentle caress before settling inside, ready to continue her strange journey to the castle. The Thestral didn't move.

"Hmm, you feel it too, don't you?" She sighed and waited, looking around at her gloomy surroundings. "It's alright, friend."

It wasn't long before a tall and slim silhouette emerged from the train, approaching the carriage in the most unmotivated manner. It was a boy in an all-black suit, piercing ice-grey eyes, and snowy blonde hair, like hers. He stepped onto the carriage without saying a word. Alena took in a big gulp of air as soon as he was within close approximation. Evidently, it had been his disheveled energy she'd been perceiving. His eyes met hers, but he quickly shifted them away, almost in a panic.

"Hey," she said through a small, awkward smile. Not a single muscle in his face moved. Alena pointed her eyebrow, slightly irritated.

_Brilliant. A Slytherin snob._

He sat neither next to her nor in front of her, which was the next curious thing he did.

The rest of the ride was half torture, half hilarity for Alena. She admittedly hated lots of things, but near the top of her list was _awkward situations_. The slightly amused witch was starting to think he may be a ghost or mere figure of a man. He had a dreadful scowl on his face the entire time, which caused her to wonder if he knew who she was or if he was just incredibly disgusted by her. Ultimately, she decided to be utterly unaffected by it and convinced herself that his unkind expression had nothing to do with her.

As distant as he was attempting to be, Alena caught him a few times trying to catch a glimpse of her from the corner of his eye. She had to admit, she had been well entertained by this displeased phantom fighting his curiosity of her. She fought against the urge to ask what caused him to have such oppugnant feelings about her without even knowing her, but she figured he probably had no idea either.

The carriage arrived at the gate, where a single mint-colored suitcase was already waiting for her. Next to it were a series of trunks with the initials _D.M._ elegantly monogrammed at the bottom. She stood to step off the carriage, and as she nearly reached the exit, the phantom boy shot up and left the carriage before her. She froze for a minute, a bit shocked at his sudden movement. He walked a few tentative steps as if he were going, then backpedaled as if he changed his mind. He finally settled on standing at the edge of the carriage door and reached out for none other than the hand of the girl he had ignored the whole ride.

She looked at him, puzzled, but allowed him to help her off the carriage. His hand was delicate and nervous.

"Thank you," she said. He looked at her for a half-split second, his face finally relaxed and sans-scowl. He didn't look pleased, but at least he didn't look utterly repulsed. The energy he emitted was still very much _—hot garbage._

As he strode off, she saw him make the hand that touched her into a tight fist and then release it to extend his fingers—almost as if touching her had burned or left a lasting effect on him. She looked at him with suspicious eyes.

_What a drama queen._

"That's Draco Malfoy," a soft voice said from the steps of the castle, interrupting Alena's fixed gaze.

In less than an instant, her face erupted with a radiant grin, and she could almost feel the happy chemicals splashing around in her brain.

"Luna!" she paced forward and wrapped her arms around her cousin's small frame. "How sweet of you to come and greet me, love bug."

"Oh, of course. Just like I said I would, remember? I've been waiting all day for you, Harlie," replied Luna.

"The Lovegoods girls are back," Alena couldn't contain the happiness of being reunited with her twin flame.

"Indeed, we are," replied Luna, grinning. They walked toward the castle, elbows interlocked.

✶


	4. The Girl on the Train

✶

_"Desire is the kind of thing_  
_that eats you and_  
_leaves you starving."_

Nayyirah Waheed

✶

It didn't take him very long to figure out who the dainty witch was when he saw her on the train. He had heard from his father that Dumbledore's granddaughter would be coming to Hogwarts from Ilvermorny this year.

 _"As if one Dumbledore at Hogwarts weren't bad enough. I can't begin to imagine the sort of foul creature the bastard son of that old treacherous excuse for a wizard could have spawned. There must be a good reason why he sent her far, far away,_ " his father had said. Draco took one very long look at her and decided there really was.

He already had two excellent reasons to hate the girl on the train.

First of all, she was a Dumbledore. He never did understand the puffery around Albus Dumbledore. The Malfoys, along with every other pureblood family, considered him to be the worst headmaster in the history of Hogwarts. He was nothing but a meddling, muggle-loving fool. What could Draco expect from his ugly granddaughter?

Well—he and his father had been wrong about that. They had anticipated her to be positively hideous, but as it turned out, she actually resembled a life-sized fairy. Draco grimaced at the realization.

Second of all, this girl was transferring from Ilvermorny—perhaps the most pathetic and muggle-inclusive school in the wizarding world.

_What a joke of a school, if one could even call it that._

And not that he was prejudiced, but American witches and wizards may as well have been muggles to him.

Lucius Malfoy had notified the school that his son would be arriving one day late due to a private family matter. The school was gracious enough to inform him that the Hogwarts Express would be in use the day of Draco's travels and he was welcome to use it.

He chose a seat in a secluded area that just so happened to have a perfect view of the only other person on the train—S _omething Dumbledore._ He couldn't remember her name from the one time his father had mentioned it. It was unbelievable how oblivious she was. How had she not noticed him staring fixedly at her the whole time? Maybe it had something to do with the fact that there was a series of columns blocking her view of him...

_No—she's just painfully self-absorbed, just like her grandfather. I bet she's too dumb to notice anyone but herself._

Draco squinted his eyes, trying to see the title of the book she was reading. _The Alchemist—_ he read through the spaces between her fingers. He had taken that same book from Hermione Granger third year. He tossed it in the Black Lake when he heard her say to her idiot friends that it was written by a muggle author.

His blood began to churn. He took a big gulp of his own saliva to alleviate the nausea forming in his stomach.

Then, the pureblooded Slytherin found himself intrigued by a gold, diamond-encrusted serpent ring that enveloped her manicured index finger. He focused on the ring as she held the book up to her face, rhythmically tapping on the cover as she read. His head shook and his eyes rolled on their own accord, disapproving of his thoughts. It was annoying that he had considered such an inconsequential thing unreasonably attractive, even if just for a brief moment. He looked down at his own hands and fiddled with his Slytherin ring.

_Why a snake ring?_

She was definitely not a Slytherin—didn't look like one. He was willing to bet his entire inheritance that this girl did not have a single cunning fiber in her being. He carefully studied her face and decided her features were too soft and fairy-like to be a Slytherin. She looked like those people who just sat on the sidelines of life plucking daisies off the ground and watching the rain fall type-of-shit. Definitely not a Slytherin.

_Oh—She's a Hufflepuff, isn't she?_

This girl could not be a Ravenclaw.

Exhibit A: She practically hadn't had a proper education for the past five years.

Exhibit B: She was reading a bloody muggle book.

Exhibit C: She kept on getting distracted by every. single. little. thing.

She looked out the window for ten minutes, leaning in and staring at the raindrops sliding on the glass like a sodding _cruciatus_ curse survivor. Then she shuffled around her obviously-charmed bag looking for something and kept getting distracted by things from inside. She pulled out a small trinket with what Draco assumed was the Ilvermorny crest, and dangled it in front of her eyes. She examined it closely, feeling the ridges and curves. After that, she took out a small compact mirror and spent more time looking at the mirror itself than her own reflection.

She went back to her book, then quickly remembered she needed something from her bag. Finally, she took out some pink-framed glasses. _Dear Merlin_ , she fiddled with the glasses, too. He wanted to march up to her, take the glasses from her hands, and just pop them onto her face and get it over with. If it took her twenty minutes only to find her glasses, he couldn't imagine how long it would take her to figure out a Ravenclaw common room riddle. Definitely not a Ravenclaw.

There was no way in hell she was a Gryffindor. She couldn't even be determined enough to read an entire chapter of her stupid book without getting sidetracked. Granger would have finished reading the whole thing by now, probably just to prove a point. Gryffindors and their unrelenting need to be the best at everything. What could this girl possibly be the best at? Twirling her hair while staring into the abyss?

When he boarded the carriage that would take them the rest of the way, she didn't seem surprised in the least. There was no reaction from her, which he found odd. He swore he'd seen her talking to herself just before he reached the carriage, too. She reminded him of that Loony Lovegood girl the Slytherins loved to make fun of. They had the same exact perplexed look on their face.

He'd have to do something to test her nerve and rule out the possibility of a Gryffindor. He completely ignored her timid greeting on the carriage and looked at her coldly. Maybe she had some of that annoying Gryffindor confidence... but nothing. She did not try to speak to him the entire way to the castle. Definitely not a Gryffindor.

So she was a Hufflepuff.

 _What qualities do Hufflepuffs have again?_ _Loyalty and what else?_

He smirked as he envisioned himself making bets with his friends and collecting a good sum. Easy money. Not that he needed it.

His mind went rogue for a split second:

_If there was a house that was purely for stunningly beautiful, albeit seemingly brain-dead, people... She'd probably be the sole member._

He had just spent hours carefully analyzing her appearance and making empty assumptions. He swore that with each passing hour, she became more and more alluring. By now, she had been ranked in the critical categories of hair, face, and body—just like Draco and his friends did with every girl in their year—and then some.

Lazy, glossy curls draped flawlessly over her shoulders all the way to her hips—shiny, soft, snowy. Even the stragglers somehow looked perfectly in place. She wore two neatly messy knots on the top half of her head. They looked... fine.

Hair:   
Eight out of ten. Too long.   
_Scratch that_ —Nine out of ten, because he could tell it smelled nice.

Her nose and cheeks were flushed pink and had dainty little freckles on them. Bummer, Draco hated freckles. Her lips were heart-shaped and both delectably plump. They were the color of raspberries, and he imagined they tasted like it, too. She had abnormally long and full eyelashes, which practically touched the tops of her eyebrows. He liked how they fluttered when she blinked a few times in a row, but he hated how they didn't allow him to see the color of her upturned eyes. They seemed to be either green or blue. She had high cheekbones and prominent, perfectly arched eyebrows.

Face:   
Nine out of ten. Pesky freckles.

But... hers added charm to her appearance. He imagined she'd look incomplete without them—ten out of ten.

 _Something_ Dumbledore was thin, but not shapeless. Quite the opposite, actually—she donned a true hourglass figure. He could make out her form from the waist down accurately, thanks to the tweed skirt she was wearing. Ideally cinched waist, lovely full hips. She took off her shoes and sat in tailor-fashion at some point on the train, making her skirt rise a few inches. He could see her thighs were well-fleshed— _bloody hell._ She looked of average height, but her legs appeared to go on for days.

Body:   
Ten out of ten. Draco had no complaints in that department.

Also, how many times had he uttered a variation of the word _perfect_ inside his head on that bloody train ride?

_Merlin's beard. Pathetic._

He had forgotten that she was a potential Hufflepuff for a second. Yes, she was bewitching. But it took a lot more than a pretty face and pleasant body to impress Draco Malfoy. She was far too beautiful to be any smart. And based on everything he had assumed about her, she would never be able to truly capture his attention.

It suddenly dawned on him that he had thought of little else during the seven hour train ride.

On the carriage, he sat neither next to her nor in front of her. It was something he had thought about on the train. The best alternative was to sit diagonally from her. He could avoid eye contact easily and prevent any accidental grazing.

_She smells so fucking good._

It made him want to jump out of the moving carriage.

✶


	5. Stubborn Sorting Hat

✶

_"I was always an unusual girl._   
_My mother told me I had a chameleon soul,  
no moral compass pointing due north,   
_ _no fixed personality; just an inner indecisiveness  
that was as wide and as wavering as the ocean."_

Lana Del Rey

✶

The Lovegood girls were like fraternal twins— _almost_ identical in every regard, but not quite. Luna Lovegood had a peculiar and generally bizarre fashion sense, always donning playful articles of clothing with whimsical hand-made jewelry. Alena Lovegood had a novel and experimental taste, but it was more of a polished and fashion-forward type of eccentric. Luna had quirks; Alena had idiosyncrasies—the same thing, but different. Two sides of the same coin.

They were both blonde, except Luna's hair was golden and had a straggly texture, while Alena's was silvery and supple. Luna's body was elegantly narrow, while Alena had a small waist merging into nicely proportioned hips. They had the same sweetly curved lips, but Alena's were bee-stung. Luna's eyes were icy blue; Alena's were blue-green with bursts of yellow around the pupil. Both of their rosy noses and cheeks were embellished with tiny dispersed freckles. And of course, they both shared the signature Lovegood dazed look on their faces. When they walked side-by-side, it was like watching two celestial beings—fairies.

By the time the girls reached the Great Hall, the entire student body was seated for dinner. When they entered, it was as if a spotlight had been placed on them; heads turned in a domino effect.

"Did this Beauxbâton get lost?" A Slytherin girl mocked.

"Is that supposed to be an insult?" Alena heard someone ask from the Hufflepuff table. She flashed a pursed-lip smile and blinked three times in a row.

The Lovegood girls stood near the doors like deer in headlights as Professor Dumbledore rose from his golden chair at the High Table.

"Attention, everyone," his voice echoed across the room. Alena could sense pride and familiarity in his tone. He took place behind his Owl Lectern.

_Oh, no. Did he really have to break out the Owl Lectern for this?_

"Please join me in welcoming a truly remarkable witch as a new student here at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, she could not arrive in time for the Sorting Ceremony yesterday, so she will be sorted tonight. Alena Dumbledore, please step forward."

Luna's eyes widened, realizing this was not what her cousin had anticipated. She then skipped off to the Ravenclaw table, leaving Alena alone in the middle of all the stares and glares.

_I'm going back to Ilvermorny first thing in the morning._

What had happened to the discreet, inconspicuous entrance she had mentally prepared for? She had completely underestimated her grandfather's natural inclination for the theatrical.

Whispers thundered throughout the hall.

"Who is that?"

"She's clearly not a first-year."

"Did he say _Dumbledore_?"

She looked around nervously before walking towards her grandfather. He reached his hand out to her, waiting for her to arrive at the front of his podium.

"In the interest of full disclosure... Alena is my own granddaughter. She is transferring from Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry—a school widely considered as one of the greatest magical educational establishments in the world—just like Hogwarts. She is a sixth-year student and I expect you all will give her an especially warm welcome. Please, Alena, take a seat." He gestured to an old three-legged stool which was facing the crowd.

✶

She sat and delicately placed her clasped hands over her knee. Professor McGonagall smiled at her and put the Sorting Hat on Alena's head. "Glad to have you here year-round, my dear girl. You know I've always thought you would be a great addition to Gryffindor," she whispered excitedly and winked.

Professor McGonagall—Minnie, as she had asked Alena to call her in private—was the closest thing she had to a motherly figure. She and Professor Snape had been teaching her advanced subjects since she was quite young.

"Ah, a fascinating mind, I see... hmmm... Curious. Quite curious, indeed," the Hat bellowed as soon as it touched her head. It proceeded to remain silent for what felt like an eternity, except for the occasional "hmm's" and "ahh's." Her face felt hot under the symbolic spotlight she was currently under.

Luna was right, the Hat was absolutely stumped going through the mess inside her head.

She had given much thought to which house she would select, something she hadn't had the chance to do at Ilvermorny. She came to her decision based on pure generalization. Slytherin was out of the question—Alena hated exclusivity and even the slightest mention of blood status made her brain stormy.

The prospect of being in Gryffindor was exhausting to her as she cared very little about competition and glory. Ravenclaw was a good option, but if Ravenclaws were anything like Horned Serpents, then they were a bit too bookish and concerned with enigmas to allow for a bit of frivolity or simplicity— _and_ they were just as competitive as Gryffindors. Of course Luna was a Ravenclaw, but Luna was also an anomaly.

Hufflepuff was the only choice that felt right. They would be welcoming and kind, making her transition much more manageable. More importantly, this was the most egalitarian and democratic of the houses. A place where outcasts were accepted for who they were. Simply put, Hufflepuff house was like a middle finger to Salazar Slytherin and the abominable elitist mentality. It was her shady snakewood tree.

Not to mention, her choice would confuse the hell out of a lot of stuck up, closed-minded witches and wizards. That sounded like fun.

"Yes, yes... let me think. Lots to process and sift through on this one. She's a brave one, she is..."

"Hmmm... anyway. A very sharp mind... Merlin's beard, a _very_ sharp mind."

"Oh, I know! You'd be a great addition to Slytherin... I see an impressive amount of ambition..."

_If you sort me into Slytherin, I will personally tie you to a rock and throw you in the Black Lake._

Six whole minutes had passed, and the Hat had not yet sorted her. She was growing a bit worn out. And so was the Hat. Professor McGonagall had at some point transfigured a fork into a pocket watch and was carefully studying it with raised brows and an eager smile.

_Seems like you're a little bit stuck. Let me help you._

_What say—Hufflepuff?_

"Lots of admirable traits in this one! Any of the four houses would be fortunate to have her—but this willful mind has chosen the house that values loyalty and inclusivity the most. A diamond will be added to the hourglass...

HUFFLEPUFF!"

"Bloody finally," Aleena said quietly under her sigh of relief.

All of Hufflepuff roared in cheers. They welcomed her with their genuine celebration and were quite pleased with their new addition.

"Yes!"

"Dumbledore is a Hufflepuff!"

"A Hufflepuff Hatstall!"

She turned back to look at her grandfather who was busy nonverbally and wandlessly transfiguring the flags of the Enchanted Ceiling from showing the Hogwarts crest to showing the Hufflepuff House crest. She fought against her own urge to change them right back.

 _Merlin, wherever you are, take me now._ She cringed. _This is not normal._

Dumbledore rose from his chair once again and spread his arms out as he waited for the crowd to quiet itself. Alena noticed he did not bother to stop the cheering, he simply allowed it to cease on its own.

"The Sorting Hat has officially taken more than six minutes to sort Alena Dumbledore. This is a phenomenon known as a _Bona Fide_ Hatstall _—_ meaning the Hat relinquished its own role to sort," he gestured to his granddaughter, "onto the student herself." Whispers of wonder thundered throughout the hall. "The last time that this happened was a very long time ago—at my own sorting ceremony. I sorted myself into Gryffindor. Today, my granddaughter sorts herself into Hufflepuff. I am very proud."

Sounds of revelry erupted once more, even louder than before. Alena's grandfather stepped down from his podium to wrap his arm around her shoulder in the most proud and paternal manner before releasing her to the Hufflepuffs. She couldn't stay mad at him. He loved her with the purest love.

✶

If Draco Malfoy wouldn't care about appearances, he'd be collecting his jaw off the floor right about then.

_A Hatstall. A bloody Bona Fide Hatstall._

Yes, he would also be collecting a measurable sum from all the bets he made with his fellow Slytherins. After all, she did go to Hufflepuff. But a Hatstall? That was totally out of left field.

He felt sick to his stomach and went over the list in his head.

_Reasons to hate Alena Dumbledore:_   
_She's—a Dumbledore._   
_She's from Ilvermorny._   
_She chose Hufflepuff? Deliberately?_   
_She's practically like the girl version of Saint Potter, it feels._

There were two options: he could pretend she didn't exist or he could actively make her life miserable like everyone else he disliked.

The Hat made it a point to mention her value of inclusivity. This girl was a staunch supporter of the movement responsible for the downfall of the wizarding world. A fervent blood-traitor, like her crackpot of a grandfather. That in itself counted as ten thousand reasons to hate her. Or perhaps he was just being over-dramatic.

✶

Alena didn't even remember Draco Malfoy, the tosser from the carriage, at this point. She encountered lots of happier, brighter people. At the Hufflepuff table, she met Hannah Abbott, Susan Bones, Ernie MacMillan, and Justin Finch-Fletchley, who were all in her year.

"Yesterday, Dumbledore—erm, your grandfather—announced the Triwizard Tournament. We have visitors on campus from Beauxbâtons and Durmstrang," said Justin, his eyes wide with excitement.

"Cedric Diggory is entering his name into the Goblet of Fire. Can you believe it? A Hufflepuff could actually be a Triwizard Champion," said Susan as she peered across the table to look at an older boy.

Ernie chimed in. "And now this, the first Hufflepuff Hatstall in... how long? And a Bona Fide, at that."

"No idea, but we're starting off the year just right, it seems," answered Susan.

They were all so animated that Alena could barely get a word in edgewise. She didn't mind.

Luna had come to check on her before she went off to the Ravenclaw tower for the night. "Good night, everyone. I hope you all enjoy Harlie as much as I do," said Luna in her light, airy voice as she walked away.

"Harlie?" asked Ernie.

"My middle name is Harlowe. My family sometimes calls me Harlie," she explained with a warm smile and a glint in her eye.

She was Alena Harlowe Dumbledore Lovegood—or Harlie, to anyone who knew her heart.

Anesidora Lovegood was her mum. Thatcher Harlowe was her dad. Both of them were dead.

As far as Alena knew, her grandfather had not been aware that he even had a son—not until the night Thatcher and Anesidora were murdered.

Her father had been adopted as a baby by the Harlowes, a healer and an auror. They would've been the ones to take care of her had her grandfather not fought for her custody. It wasn't a fair fight. He also insisted that she take his last name—which she agreed to, as long as she could also use both of her parents names; thus, making Harlowe her middle name and Lovegood her second surname.

"Family? You're related to Luna Lovegood, too?" Asked Hannah.

"Yes, Luna and I—we're cousins. Her father and my mother were siblings."

"Wicked. Luna can call you Harlie... Around here, you'll be known as _Bona Fide_ ," said Justin proudly. "The one and only Hufflepuff _Bona Fide_."

"Hufflepuff Bona Fide! Hufflepuff Bona Fide! Hufflepuff Bona Fide!" The group began to chant, and the rest of the Hufflepuff table followed suit.

_Oh, boy._

She couldn't wait for the Hatstall thing to blow over. She smiled and observed her surroundings. She'd been at Hogwarts a thousand times, but never like this.

✶


	6. The Hufflepuff Pit

✶

_"Everyone says Hufflepuff_   
_are a lot o' duffers, but —"_

Rubeus Hagrid

✶

Alena entered the Hufflepuff common room and couldn't believe her eyes.

"An atrium?" She said through a gasp. The walls and ceilings were all made of glass.

"This is brilliant."

"Of course—our plants and students require lots of sunlight. Only the top windows are real, though. All the others are enchanted," Hannah said, pointing at the ceiling. "That's our weeping willow over there; it's ancient. Don't worry, it's nothing like the Whomping Willow out on the school grounds. Oh, and we've got all sorts of things growing all over the place, as you can see. The air is just so much fresher in here, don't you think?"

There was a wooden railing encircling the center of the atrium and a set of spiral stairs leading downward. Alena leaned against the railing and looked down. She could see fireplaces, seating areas, tables—and more plants.

"The Hufflepuff Pit." Alena could tell Hannah loved revealing Hufflepuff's delightful little secrets. They walked down the spiral stairs and into the Pit. "This is the main common room area. Boys' dormitories are that way and girls' dorms are this way."

There were overstuffed sofas and tufted chairs as soft and cozy as sunset yellow clouds. Fuzzy rugs under every seating area and soft, clean blankets were readily available all around—some neatly thrown over the arms of chairs, others tucked inside woven baskets.

The smell of freshly baked bread filled Alena's nostrils. "We're right near the kitchens, so it always smells delicious in here," Hannah shared.

"Coffee and tea station is right over there by our house library," she pointed at a particularly toasty corner of the room, which had several built-in shelves filled with books, with a sliding ladder attached.

Next to it was a charming kitchenette with glass cabinets holding numerous colorful mugs and tea cups. "Every Hufflepuff keeps their own mug in here," Hannah said as they walked towards the kitchenette. "We don't mind sharing with each other at all, as long as the mugs aren't taken out of the common room and the scouring charm is used on the mug afterwards."

Hannah wrapped her arm around Alena's arm and walked her over to one of the three breathtakingly beautiful Chateau-style fireplaces. "That's Boston ivy there and that one there is—"

"Honeysuckle," Alena interrupted. "I've got Honeysuckle inside my—home." She flashed a polite smile.

"So, what do you think? The other houses seem to be under the false impression that the Hufflepuff common room resembles a badger's burrow, you know? Dirt everywhere and the lot. But snakes live in holes in the ground, too, and no one expects the Slytherin common room to be earthy and unrefined." They both laughed.

"I adore it. There's not a single unrefined thing about this common room." Alena was beaming. "It's the complete opposite, actually."

A group of sixth-years were gathered around a fireplace with hot chocolate in their mugs and a deck of Exploding Snap.

"Hey, Hannah—sit with us for a while, if you're not too tired. Bring your friend," said a tall, handsome boy with Chestnut brown hair and gray eyes, the same one Susan was peering at the Hufflepuff table earlier.

"Sorry, Cedric. I've got some prefect duties to attend to before bed," she eyed him, wondering why he wasn't carrying out his own prefect duties. "Al, would you like me to show you to the dormitories now or will you be staying out here?"

"Oh, well I'm not feeling tired yet, so I guess I'll stick around for a bit. Thank you for everything, dear. You've made my first day as a Hufflepuff truly effortless." Alena wrapped her arms around Hannah for a quick hug.

"Of course! I'll see you in our room, Miss Bona Fide." Hannah vanished into a nearby passageway that led into the girls' dormitories.

The tall boy with Chestnut brown hair shot up from his seat. "Alena, right? I'm Cedric Diggory," he reached for a handshake and then gestured for her to sit on the empty armchair where he used to be sitting.

"Oh, I've heard about you, Cedric Diggory. Nice to meet you," she replied as she took the seat.

"You can call me Ced." He raked his wispy hair with one hand and kept the other in his pocket. "And really—what have you heard? Anything good?" He sat on the armrest of a nearby sofa.

"That you're planning on entering your name into the Goblet of Fire," she pursed her lips and raised her eyebrows. "Is it true?"

"Word travels fast, I guess." He smirked amusingly. "But anyway, enough about me. How's it feel to be a Hatstall?"

"Oh, I chose Hufflepuff weeks ago. The Hat wouldn't have taken nearly as long if it would've just listened to me from the beginning," she said shyly. "Bloody hat is quite stubborn, I gather."

"But if it would've sorted you from the go, then you wouldn't be a _Bona Fide_ Hatstall," Cedric laughed.

"You're going to really enjoy Hufflepuff. I mean, if I'm honest, we do get sort of a bad rap around here. They say that we're a load of duffers, but hopefully having you in our house will help with that," remarked a red-headed, heavily-freckled girl. "I'm Katerina Laveau, by the way. You can call me Kat."

"Nice to meet you, Kat," Alena said as she crossed her legs and straightened her posture. "From what I gather, Hufflepuff's had this sort of unfounded reputation for centuries—I sincerely doubt I'll be the one to finally change that."

"But you're a Dumbledore," Kat gave Alena an earnest look.

"Right, but what if I'm just an ordinary Dumbledore?" she asked.

Perhaps she had miscalculated.

She'd specifically chosen the "House of Outcasts" because she thought they'd be less likely to _keep_ her inside one of the lonely boxes she often felt trapped in.

First, she was an orphan—deprived of parents. Of course, she knew she wasn't the only one in the world to share this same experience, but it definitely felt that way most days. There was a sharp sting inside her chest every time someone mentioned their mum or brought up their dad casually in conversation. The grief was never-ending and unimaginable, and given that her parents would never rise from the dead, this was a lonely box she'd never be able to escape out of.

And then there was the second box.

She was the granddaughter of a famous and highly respectable wizard—and although she wasn't necessarily well-known in any regard at this point in _her_ life, those that knew who she was always treated her differently. They were always watching her, expecting her to either fail miserably or succeed extraordinarily. The insane expectations placed heavily on her shoulders sometimes made her feel like she was drowning in a lake of cold isolation.

Hufflepuff already had Newt and Theseus Scamander, Grogan Stump, Artemisia Lufkin, Hengist of Woodcroft, among many other notable witches and wizards—but sure, _Alena Dumbledore_ was going to be the one to change the general reputation of the house.

The group of Hufflepuffs looked at each other a bit dejectedly—except Cedric, who seemed to be examining Alena and coming to his own conclusions about her.

"Well, if you were ordinary, we'd be fine with that," Cedric said with a playful and smug smile, showcasing his pearly whites. "But you're not ordinary at all."

Alena scoffed. "What gave me away?"

"The fact that you picked the house that people consider the least desirable—just to prove a point." He retorted. "And you're a Bona Fide."

She chewed the inside of her cheek.

"That, and the fact that there's no such thing as an ordinary Dumbledore."

Ordinary—common, normal, run-of-the-mill.

She guessed he was right. Taking into account that the opposite of ordinary could be extraordinary, just as well as... unordinary.

Dumbledores weren't common; there were only three left. And they absolutely were not normal, especially Grand-Uncle Aberforth and his peculiar obsession with goats.

They were unique even to one another—each one completely different from the next. So no, they were definitely not run-of-the-mill.

Dumbledores were weird, uncommon, and abnormal. They were mad, but lucid. Whimsical, but sensical. Absurd, but well-grounded.

She smiled at the notion.

"I didn't choose Hufflepuff to prove a point," she huffed. "I chose it because I look devastatingly good in yellow."

She didn't want to prove a point, although there was a part of her, deep inside her cynical and skeptical mind, that believed houses were kind of dumb and divisive. She never understood why people willingly segregated themselves. Plus, the generalizations placed on each house were damaging and fairly inaccurate, even though she admittedly relied heavily on them to make her decision. She was sure it would be a bit more obvious how counter-productive they were once the war inevitably came.

But voicing any of it, or even fully admitting it to herself, would be like questioning or denouncing a religion. Almost like blasphemy. How would quidditch at Hogwarts work? What color would everybody's robes be? Who would people feel predisposed to like or dislike?

Either way, it was pointless to think about. There had been wars before.

"Spoken like a true Hufflepuff, Dumbledore. You'll fit right in," Cedric's lips seemed to always be pursed to one side. "So how'd you get here? I bet you apparated, didn't you?" He narrowed his eyes, curious to know of any special perks or privileges the headmaster's granddaughter could relish.

"No—I took the train like everyone else," Alena responded with a quirked brow.

"Well, not like everyone else. You took the train _by yourself._ I don't think the train's ever run just for one person before," Cedric instigated.

"God, I can't imagine riding the train all alone for so many hours. How incredibly boring," Kat sighed.

"Kept myself occupied," she smiled. "And I wasn't by myself. There was a Slytherin snob traveling as well. Draco Malfoy," she said casually. "Although he ignored my existence the entire trip."

Kat shifted in her seat with an uncomfortable look on her face.

"Oh—he's not a Slytherin snob, he's _the_ Slytherin snob," Cedric warned. "You'll want to stay away from him."

"I gathered as much. I don't think it'll be that hard... he seemed to be utterly repulsed by me," Alena giggled.

"I highly doubt that," Cedric muttered, his eyes shifting from her eyes slowly to her lips. He cleared his throat. "Anyway, tell us about yourself. How was Ilvermorny? Do you miss it terribly? What are your life goals and ambitions?" He asked in a slightly theatrical voice. "What makes you lie awake at night? What's your boyfriend's name?"

Alena bit her lip and narrowed her eyes before bursting in laughter.

The rest of the evening was spent in good conversation and company until the candles around the common room were reduced to small mounds of molten wax. They had played several rounds of Exploding Snap and one by one the Hufflepuffs went off to bed, until only Cedric and Alena were left. The night ended with a tie-breaker between them, which went to Cedric.

"I challenge you to a rematch, Cedric Diggory," Alena said as she crossed her arms and slumped back on her chair. "Another day, of course."

"Gladly," he replied smugly, his eyes glistening in the subsiding fire. "Call me Ced."

"Alright. Goodnight, Mr. Diggory," she teased.

"Ced," he rolled his eyes. "Goodnight, Miss Dumbledore. It's nice having you here."

⚜️🐍⚜️

Draco entered the cold Slytherin common room with his two lackeys, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle, and took a deep breath. It wasn't the Malfoy Manor, but it was close enough. Several of his friends were gathered around the fireplace, discussing their summer holiday... and of course the exciting events of the evening.

"Fucking Hatstall, mate—to Hufflepuff. What a waste. To think that angel could've been here in our common room right now," griped Theo Nott. He rolled his razor-sharp jaw and raised an eyebrow.

"She'd be sitting _right_ here."

He gestured to the space next to him with both his hands, then hovered them over his lap. "She's probably up to her knees in dirt right now in the filthy Hufflepuff common room."

Crabbe and Goyle sniggered, while Draco and Blaise Zabini seemed to be too accustomed to Theo's impropriety to bother with it.

"Trust me, she'd be surrounded by dirt and filth in this common room too, Theo," Blaise sighed. "Considering you're in it."

Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin femme fatale and prefect, scoffed and crossed her arms. She was in a satin spaghetti strap night gown with a matching emerald green robe. If Pansy were a Spice Girl, she'd definitely be Posh Spice.

"Maybe her brain is mush and that's why the Hat had no idea where to put her. I mean, she comes from _Ilvermorny_. She's probably not good enough for any of the Hogwarts houses, so the Hat settled for Hufflepuff," she said viciously, as she played with the pendant of her necklace, which was a silver snake in the shape of the letter _S._ "And must you be so disgustingly salacious all the time, Theo?"

With pursed lips, a raised eyebrow, and a flourish, she conjured a hot cup of tea.

The raven-haired wizard gave her a cheeky smile. "Are you suddenly above some smut, Pans?" She glared at him.

"The fuck are you wearing? You're a prefect, Pansy. Put some clothes on," said Draco, with a crumpled nose. "Your arse is nearly out."

Pansy twirled and then held her hips. "You like it? It's new. And I know I'm a prefect, Draco, I had to pick up your slack yesterday with the first-years. A thank you would be nice."

Draco cleared his throat and unbuttoned the cuffs of his dress shirt. "Anyway, going back to the matter at hand. If it were true, Pans, that the Hat just happened to settle for Hufflepuff—then more of them would be Hatstalls," he said, sitting lazily on a leather armchair.

"Wouldn't they?"

The haughty witch rolled her deep green eyes and sat on the sofa next to Blaise with her exposed legs crossed, and daintily held her cup of tea.

"Is being a Hatstall even that impressive? My father told me some Peter Pettigrew from his year was a Hatstall, and that he was awfully uninspiring. He said the man was quite a pathetic mess, actually," Daphne Greengrass chimed in.

"He was sorted into Gryffindor." Her olive skin was glowing against the flames of the fireplace, and her wavy, cinnamon hair was swept to one side. She looked like a pin-up doll.

"Even if that were true, Daph, this wasn't your old bog-standard Hatstall. This was a Bona Fide," remarked Blaise. "The Hat was so overwhelmed with her mind that it gave up and had the witch sort her own damned self. Pretty impressive."

"Wow, and you believe that rubbish, Blaise?" asked Pansy. "I still heard the Hat call out _Hufflepuff."_

"For Merlin's sake, it called her a bloody diamond. I've never heard the Hat flatter someone like that," said Theo, pulling at one of his hair coils and releasing it like a spring.

"That stupid Hat lives in Dumbledore's office. Don't you think it's obvious that it was just sucking up to the headmaster?" Daphne asked arrogantly.

"That's bloody ridiculous. What does a hat need to suck up to Dumbledore for? What's he gonna do—up its salary? The Hat doesn't lie, sweet cheeks, and jealousy is not a good look on you," Theo teased. "But anyway, enough about the Hat already—what about _her?_ She's fucking blinding. I've never been this glad to have multiple classes with Hufflepuffs in my life."

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Draco asked. "She's Dumbledore's granddaughter."

"So? That old bloke isn't gonna stop me from acknowledging how fit she is," Theo replied through laughter. "I know what _I'm_ going to dream about tonight." He pursed his lips smugly and brought his fingers up to his jaw.

Draco cringed. "Not because he's the headmaster, you arse. Because he's a fucking muggle-lover. The girl's probably a bigger blood-traitor than all the Weasleys combined and you're over here lusting for her."

"Jesus Christ, Draco, must you always be this intense? What the bloody hell happened to you over the summer?" Theo rolled his eyes.

"I grew the fuck up, Theo. You should try it sometime," Draco smirked.

"Anyway," Blaise cut in, trying to diffuse the tension. "It's not like she'd be interested in any of you tossers," Blaise added. "Especially you, Theo. You're far too daft to pull a girl like that."

There was laughter from Blaise, Crabbe, and Goyle.

"Even if I _were_ daft, I certainly make up for it in looks." Theo straightened up in his seat.

"What are you two gargoyles laughing at?" He spat at Crabbe and Goyle.

"The only one of us who could possibly have a chance is me, of course. And perhaps our resident pretty boy, Draco, if he _really_ tried. Unfortunately, he's too busy pretending to be disgusted by the girl."

"Oh, he's _not_ _pretending_ , Blaise," said Theo sarcastically.

Theo knew Draco far too well. They'd talked about girls hundreds of times; shared in grave detail their likes and dislikes. He knew enough about his friend's preferences to know that Alena Dumbledore was Draco Malfoy's fantasy girl. And if that weren't enough to prove it, he had seen Draco in the Great Hall during the Sorting, unable to tear his eyes from her. He looked completely entranced, beguiled.

Daphne yawned obnoxiously. "I'm bored now and you lot are revolting," she gestured at the boys. "Are you staying, Draco?"

"No. I'm bored, too." They both stood up abruptly and left for their prospective dormitories, hoping that by morning everyone would be much less enthralled with Hogwarts' new in-house celebrity.

"For the record, I think we'd all have a chance with _Madam Hatstall,"_ Pansy said before taking a sip of tea. "We're quite the fetching bunch—and sharp, too, the lot of us. I certainly wouldn't fraternize with any of you tossers if you were ugly and stupid."

"What about—" Theo quirked a brow and pointed at Crabbe and Goyle, who were sitting next to him, causing Blaise to nearly choke on his hot tea.

"For Merlin's sake, Theo," Pansy grimaced before bursting out in laughter.

✶


	7. The Enchanted Quarters

✶ 

_"I could deny it if I liked._   
_I could deny anything if I liked."_

Oscar Wilde

✶ 

Alena arrived at her dormitory, which she would be sharing with Hannah and Susan. Queenie, her cat, was lying comfortably on the bed. Queenie was a white, half-Munchkin, half-Kneazle, with a brown tail and brown ears. She had a patch of black hair in the shape of a perfect triangle between her teal-blue eyes.

Alena's medium-sized, mint-colored suitcase was also lying on the bed. It had the Dumbledore crest gracing its front panel. She looked cautiously around the room to make sure she was completely alone.

 _Jolie Bijou,_ she thought, as she gave her wand a practiced wave.

Precious Jewel in French—it was the password she used to open up the protective wards on her suitcase, which she had now placed on the floor.

The two golden latches opened up instantly. She stepped inside it by putting her feet on a white ladder, and disappeared into the case, making sure to close it above her.

Inside was a small world, created by a flourishing witch, with a little help from her grandfather, hoping never to be detected using the undetectable extension charm; as it was carefully regulated by the Ministry, and not meant for private use.

In reality, it was just a decent-sized room with its own lavatory, nothing more. Well, it did have its own greenhouse, but that was all. Alena had carefully curated everything inside her quarters. This was the only consistent home she'd ever had.

The furniture was all made up of Victorian-style pieces. Her books were neatly arranged by size and color on their shelves; and her vanity had crystal displays filled with rings, necklaces, brooches, and barrettes made from different colored gems. Her bed was a cloud of rose-colored satin sheets and about ten ruffled pillows and cushions. There were two enchanted windows in the room, showing permanently gloomy and rainy weather outside. A generous portion of the walls was covered with the beautiful vines of creeping figs and honeysuckle.

Alena's favorite things in the world lived inside her suitcase. The first was her beloved greenhouse, which homed the hundreds of plants she'd been taking care of for years. She had magical and non-magical plants growing in her indoor garden—anything from ordinary peonies to poisonous moonseeds. Several shelves were stocked with lots of water-filled vases, each holding plant cuttings and propagations. She loved looking through the vases and seeing new roots growing. There was a snug reading nook in a shady corner of the greenhouse; the comfiest loveseat was placed over a soft rug, and an old record player sat next to it.

Her second favorite thing was her magical fish tank, which was not inhabited by any fish, but by two small exotic creatures named Bea and Poppy. They were neotenic salamanders with regeneration powers known as axolotls. They originated from Mexico, but her grandfather managed to find a breeder in the States after she read about them in _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them._

Along with her plants and axolotls, Alena's most prized possession was her collection of gemstones. She had an affinity for gemology and had garnered quite an impressive assortment. She had many different varieties, sizes, and cuts; her favorites being a couple of phoenix flints (coughed up by Fawkes), moonstones, and moissanites.

The gems, plants, and two axolotls were all in pristine condition. Alena was a careful caretaker and collector by nature. It was quite lucky that she was a witch, because it meant she had double or even triple the amount of knowledge to gather about plants, gems, and creatures than she would if she were a muggle.

As much as she would have loved to stay in her secret enchanted quarters, she could not. Her roommates would soon wonder where she was, especially Hannah, being a dutiful prefect. Alena opened a drawer from her desk and took out a small brown box. She put it in her cloak pocket and made her way up the white ladder.

Once she was back in the Hufflepuff dormitory with her mint suitcase inconspicuously tucked under her bed, she took out the small brown box and placed it on top of her bed.

_Engorgio._

The brown box grew ten times its original size and revealed itself to be a Hogwarts trunk, an enchanted suitcase that was perfectly legal. She had to make it seem like she definitely didn't have a whole bewitched suitcase á la Newt Scamander.

Moments later, her roommates walked in, and they turned in for the night after brief chit-chat. Alena, curious as she was, decided to look around the castle after Hannah and Susan fell asleep. She had practically grown up in the Hogwarts castle, as she stayed there every summer and winter holiday, but she had never been entirely free to roam. She was especially keen on visiting the greenhouses and perhaps the Astronomy Tower. She wandered her way through the corridors with Queenie strutting closely behind, accidentally waking a few portraits with the light emitting from her wand.

"Come closer, dear," a voice called out near the Grand Staircase. It came from a portrait on the wall.

 _Inflamare,_ she thought.

She waved her hand over a single sconce next to the portrait, and a spark of fire appeared inside it. She shook her wand to turn off the light coming from its tip.

"Ah, Alena Dumbledore. I haven't seen you in a while. You've grown up beautifully," the man on the portrait said.

"Yes, sir. I apologize for not visiting your portrait in such a long time. I was never allowed to roam the castle. You know I admire you very much," she said with a smile. "I still keep all of your chocolate frog cards."

"Well, maybe one day you'll bring me your own chocolate frog card, my fellow Bona Fide. It's all anyone spoke about tonight after dinner," the man on the portrait responded. "I was the first Bona Fide, you know? The Sorting Hat had been introduced by the founders about ten years before my sorting. Your grandfather must be thrilled. It won't be long until he stops by here to brag about it."

"You think so? I can't picture my grandfather boasting about me to a portrait," she said as she heard the cracking sound of someone apparating. "But then again..."

"Alena Dumbledore—care to explain what you are doing gallivanting around the castle at night?" asked a familiar voice from behind her.

"Oh, there he is," the man on the portrait laughed. "Right on time, silly predictable wizard."

She turned around to face him and said, "I'm not gallivanting. I'm exploring."

"Merlin, I was just stopping by to let you know we've got a new Bona Fide at Hogwarts, my friend," he said proudly as he held on to Alena's shoulders.

"I'm all caught up, Albus. Congratulations are in order. Alena, dear, do come visit me whenever you have time. I'd very much like to pick your brain," Merlin winked at her.

"Yes, sir. I will. Probably during the day next time. Good night, then."

"Good night, dear."

Her grandfather waved his hand over the sconce to put out the fire and they both used their wands to light the way.

"Rules are rules, Alena. No student should be out of bed at this hour." Dumbledore reached for Alena and gave her a grandfatherly hug. "I've missed you, dear. I know you'll make this school just as proud as you've made me."

"Ah, I don't know about that," she said through a smile.

"You're remarkable and you know it," he kept his arm around her shoulder as he walked her in the direction of the kitchens. "Much more than I was at your age."

"Right. If I was, I wouldn't have been caught so easily."

"Well, I've got a few years of experience under my belt. Plus, Filch seems to be completely unaware that there's a student out of bed. That's unheard of."

"Grandpa, don't think I've forgotten about your over-the-top introduction this evening. You know I specifically asked to come a day later so that I could slip in quietly. And the thing with the flags? So unprofessional, Headmaster."

"I transfigure the flags every time someone is sorted," he replied in a serious tone. Alena glared at him. "What? Oh, did you think I did that just for you?" He chuckled.

"Right."

"Alright, say I only do it for the Bona Fide Hatstalls," his smile could've lit the entire hallway.

He stopped walking when they reached the corridor that led towards the kitchens and the Hufflepuff common room. "Go back to bed now and stay there until the morning, dear. It would be a shame to receive complaints about you on your first night here."

Alena pursed her lips to the side and gathered Queenie from the ground next to her. "I was just curious."

"I know. Oh, and Alena, come see me in my office before your first class tomorrow."

She nodded and strode away.

Alena arrived at the Hufflepuff entrance and paused in front of the barrels for a minute.

_I'm a perfect idiot. I did not think this through. What was the sodding password again?_

She was extremely careful when knocking on the hopefully correct barrels to the rhythm of _Helga Hufflepuff_ , praying to Merlin she would not be doused in vinegar.

Thankfully, she got the Hufflepuff password right on her first try, and she smiled proudly at herself as she entered her new home on her own.

✶ 

Draco walked coolly to his private dorm room after the unbearable conversation in the common room. His suit jacket was folded neatly over his arm as he loosened the knot of his black tie and unfastened the top buttons of his black dress shirt. He ran his fingers through his lustrous, silver hair.

He stepped through the door of his empty room and heard it click behind him. Draco stood for a moment, looking at the same room, same bed, same desk and chair he'd had for five years. It all seemed different.

He had always enjoyed the end of the day at Hogwarts. He was always surrounded by his equally presumptuous and like-minded friends—for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, in classes, and in between. After they'd spent all day together, they'd convene every night in the common room to hurl underhanded remarks at one another and compete for the title of "Biggest Arsehole." It was good fun.

And then he could finally go into his room and savor a few hours of solitude and privacy, until the next morning. A perfect balance.

It felt different this time. He felt an unidentified hankering for... something. Like being in his room was keeping him from being out there, where he could see... where he could be closer to...

He sat on his four poster bed and let himself fall back into his pillow, his arms folded over his chest, and his eyes looking at the ceiling as if he were star-gazing.

There was only one thing on his mind.

That thing, was what had kept his mind and vision occupied for hours on the train. That thing, was the main event at dinner in the Great Hall. That thing, was the leading topic of conversation in the Slytherin common room that night. And the way things were going, that thing would be anything anyone would talk about for weeks.

He should've been fucking tired of that thing. He should've been relieved to be finally be locked away in his room—far from any and all of it.

Now that he was completely alone with his thoughts, he could perhaps be more honest with himself. His heart began pounding as he realized he had complete freedom to think and imagine anything at all concerning... that... thing.

He shuddered.

That... silver-haired... angelic... magical... thing...

He finished unbuttoning his shirt and pulled it off of his body, as he began feeling hot and confined inside it. He wiped away the tiny drops of perspiration from his forehead.

In his mind, there was a clear picture of her every inch—on the train, on the carriage, in the Great Hall, and in the main corridor, before she was swept away by a group of Hufflepuffs.

Why did she feel so strangely familiar? Like she had lived in his brain before.

While on the train, she had been eating a big, red apple. He never cared for red apples; he preferred the sour, acidic tang of green apples. But the way she ate that crimson apple made him want to buy a whole fucking orchard of exclusively red apples.

He played the scene slowly in his head.

Her delicate hand gripping the apple. Sweet mouth agape, readying itself. Raspberry-red lips against the apple's skin. Perfect white teeth sinking into it. And then the snap of juice bursting from the bite.

Sugary nectar dripping from the corner of her mouth like honey. Her finger swiping it up slowly before going into her mouth. The way her lips scrunched up when she sucked the juice off her finger.

Sometimes her tongue made an appearance, licking her lips so seductively he could've sworn she was toying with him.

And then again. And again. Until only the core of the apple was left.

He wished she'd take a bite out of him. Again and again until only his core was left.

His breathing became short and fast, and he felt his blood begin to travel slowly to a place where he wasn't prepared to admit.

_Shit._

That was just her eating an apple. That was just him focusing on her face, her mouth.

Now he was thinking about the rest of her. The black blouse she was wearing might as well have been body paint. He could see the faint outline of her bra. Her breasts protruding perfectly from her chest. High, plump, feminine... plentiful. And her waist, he had never wanted to have both of his hands around something so badly—and then slide them down slowly.

To her hips. And thighs. Flesh. Soft, smooth flesh.

On the carriage, she had entwined her legs and leaned forward, away from him. He tried to focus his eyes elsewhere, but they kept fighting him and landing on her skirt. The perfect curve her body made as it leaned in.

She was a complete doll. An enchanting doll who was placed inside a crystal display case—in perfect view but impossibly out of reach.

_Fuck._

Even when he thought she was a dense and ordinary Hufflepuff, he could see she was attractive. But he felt safe. Her unmatched beauty would not be enough to put him at risk.

Except she wasn't dense and she wasn't ordinary. Even though she did end up being a Hufflepuff.

_I'm fucked. I'm completely and utterly fucked._

He'd read all about Hatstalls in the extended version of _Hogwarts: A History._ The section about the prodigious witches and wizards of Hogwarts. The majority were Near Hatstalls, like Potter and Granger. Then there were the Actual Hatstalls, a much smaller group including Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick.

And finally, there were the _Bona Fide_ Hatstalls.   
Wizards like Dumbledore and Merlin—fucking Merlin—were _Bona Fide_ Hatstalls.

Draco went back to the memory of his own Sorting. A perfect example of the antithesis to any kind of Hatstall, especially a _Bona Fide_. The Hat had barely touched as much as a hair on his head when it had already made its decision. He was that predictable.

She was that indecipherable.

He felt pressure in his chest and head, as if he'd accidentally taken too much of a sleeping potion too fast. His mind was scattered.

She was exceptional. A complete mystery to him, but exceptional.

His father would be expecting a letter from him soon with details about the headmaster's granddaughter. Perhaps he should not send a letter at all, since the witch had been expected to be nothing to write home about.

And he had to convince himself somehow that she was really was nothing to write home about.

She was nothing.

✶ 

_He knew why she felt familiar._   
_He made her. He dreamed her._

_She was the girl he had devised in his brain using the bits and pieces he liked from other girls. He had sculpted her out of marble and carved her out of clay._

_She was his pipe dream. Except now she was standing there—real as ever._

_And he couldn't have her. He had to come to terms with the fact that he could never have her._

_He had to deny his true thoughts and feelings until he wasn't denying anymore._


	8. The Unwanted Time-Turner

✶ 

_"Expectations were like fine pottery._   
_The harder you held them,_   
_the more likely they were to crack."_

Brandon Sanderson

✶ 

Alena was up before the sun the following morning, mainly as a result of her "first-day jitters," as she called it. She was terrified of her alarm not going off in the morning of an important day, so she would barely sleep at all the night before. Muggles actually had a term for it—alarm anxiety. She thought it made sense for muggles to suffer from such anxieties, but her own alarm was powered with magic and magic hadn't really failed her before.

She got into her Hufflepuff robes for the first time, but not without tweaking a couple of things first. The Horned Serpent turned Hufflepuff made the uniform's bright yellow tones just a tad warmer and her skirt just a tad shorter. Well, perhaps a bit more than a tad. A knife pleated skirt that went past her knees felt like a crime against fashion. She picked a Citrine brooch, for good luck, and pinned it onto her cloak. It was in the shape of an adorable little Snidget.

Alena arrived at the entrance of the headmaster's office and stood before the Griffin statue. "Ugly gargoyle," she recited as if her words would cause the Griffin to move. She curled her lips playfully.

"Sherbet Lemon?" Nothing happened. Her grandfather often changed the passwords of his office.

"Hmm... let's see. _Jolie Bijou?"_ The Griffin shifted to reveal a staircase moving upward and she quickly jumped on it. "Ah, brilliant."

Her grandfather was the only other person to know her mint suitcase password. He added it as one of the passwords to his own office knowing she'd be the only one to try it.

"What do you have against my Griffin?" he asked as he removed his half-moon spectacles.

"I find it rather ugly," she replied jokingly, standing before Fawkes' perch and leaning closely into his vicinity. The red and gold bird mirrored her and leaned into her as well, snuggling his face against the young witch's cheek. "Love you, Fawkes," she whispered.

"You are probably wondering why I have called this meeting. I wanted to give you this," he reached into his drawer and took out a triangular wooden box. "Open it."

Alena did as her grandfather asked. She gasped quietly and looked highly intrigued as she pulled out a golden chain attached to a small silver hourglass from the box. "Merlin's beard... a time-turner. For what?"

"Minerva and I agree that you are able to handle a bigger course load than the average student."

Alena's eyes widened and her smile dropped from her face. "I appreciate the sentiment, but I'm not really interested in a bigger course load. What if Hogwarts is more demanding than Ilvermorny? Wouldn't you like to see how well I adapt here before making me time-travel to second period?" She inspected the time-turner carefully before fixing it back into the box.

"It's not a sentiment, dear, it's a fact. Hogwarts is not much more demanding than Ilvermorny. Our curriculums are nearly identical. Do you really think I'd send you there if I thought you'd be getting a lesser education?"

"Sure, if it meant I'd be kept _safe."_

Alena completed her first five years of schooling at Ilvermorny School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the highest peak of Mount Greylock. She loved everything about it—the blue and cranberry robes, the golden Gordian Knot that fastened them, and the marble statues that welcomed all witches and wizards at the castle's entrance. She was quite fond of the Pukwudgies that worked the school grounds, no matter how grumpy they were all the time. Alena was quite proud that some of them had actually become fond of her in return. The tall, fragrant pine trees and the luminous fog encompassing the Ilvermorny lands made her feel like she lived in an eerie, yet oddly comforting timberland.

She hadn't had any desire to be transfer out of Ilvermorny, and deep down she harbored a bit of resentment towards her grandfather—both for having sent her away in the first place and then for stripping her from what had become her home.

Dumbledore gulped as he opened up a file and put his glasses back on.

"You achieved all twelve E.A.G.L.E.s with eleven Extraordinarys and one Transcends Expectations," he looked closely at what Alena assumed to be her transcript. "And your results are in for the O.W.L.s your were required to take in order to transfer. Ten Oustandings and two Exceeds Expectations. I have complete faith that you will be more than capable of handling a couple extra courses."

Alena threw her head back and looked up at the ceiling. "Grandpa, thank you so much for having faith in my abilities, but I'm already signed up for the maximum amount of classes a person could possibly take."

"Enter time-turner," he smiled. "You are far too advanced to limit yourself—"

"By _time_?"

"Precisely. Especially when you're being handed a tool," he slid the box across his desk, "that can eliminate that limitation. I know the classes you are currently enrolled in are going to be mere child's play for you. You must continue to be challenged."

"I think you overestimate me," she crossed her arms and melted into her chair. She knew her statement would vex him.

He paused for a brief moment, as if calming his internal rage. "To overestimate you would be absurd, and I do not do absurd things, Alena."

She tried her best to keep herself from scoffing and narrowing her eyes at him. He absolutely did absurd things. He was doing an absurd thing right now—offering her a time-turner.

"You have mastered every skill you have been taught. I don't overestimate you, I know exactly what you are capable of. And I think three additional classes, at least, would be very beneficial."

She looked down at her hands and fiddled with her rings. Every day she wore a cushion cut moissanite ring on her right ring finger; a rare gem only found at meteor sites. It had been her mother's engagement ring. She also wore a dainty snake ring encircling her left index finger, representing her Ilvermorny house of Horned Serpent. It was a gift.

She sighed. There was no point in arguing with him.

"Out of consideration to you, I will agree to taking two extra classes this semester. But only two."

Dumbledore smiled from ear to ear. "May I suggest Arithmancy and—"

"No, Grandpa. I'm sorry, I sort of hate Arithmancy, as you can tell by my marks. I'll be taking Creature Care and—" she paused for a moment to think.

"We're offering Alchemy this year since there is sufficient demand," he said cheerfully.

"Oh, I actually enjoy Alchemy. Creature Care and Alchemy it is. And if I end up feeling too overwhelmed, I reserve the right to drop the classes and return the device." She reluctantly took the time-turner and pocketed it.

"Alright, no matter. And we call it Care of Magical Creatures at Hogwarts. You will be fine and you will thank me for it later." He looked completely pleased with himself.

"Not a word about this to anyone, dear. Perhaps only Hermione Granger, but no one else. The Ministry would not have released this time-turner to anyone else but you. Do you understand what I am saying?" he warned.

_I understand. Nepotism. Bias. Favor. Dumbledore._

"Is that why you want me to do it? Because Hermione Granger does it?"

Of course Hermione Granger should have a time-turner. The difference was that she would have earned it. Not only had she achieved exceptional marks, but she had also risked her life a handful of times and contributed to stalling the return of Voldemort.

Alena hadn't done shit. She'd just been under her snakewood tree at Ilvermorny, with a nice cup of tea, the Pukwudgies, and the pacifists. It would've been an utter disgrace for her _not_ to have high marks. She'd had absolutely nothing else in the world to worry about.

The old headmaster smiled and scoffed at the same time. "Hermione Granger is a very clever witch—among the brightest this school has seen. She will accomplish amazing, wonderful things. That is a fact."

He snapped the box where the time-turner had been in shut and placed it back inside his drawer.

"But she's very by-the-book; logical, to an extreme," he looked directly into his granddaughter's eyes. "A bit closed-minded if you ask me."

"And if there's one thing I know about magic _,_ it's that the very best kind will never make any sense at all. And you, my dear girl, you are pure magic."

"I'll never make any sense," she smirked.

"Brilliant."

"Why would you want to? In my opinion, it is the unsolvable, enigmatic, mystifying witches and wizards who are the most powerful. They wield their magic differently. In ways that go beyond anything you can find in books."

Alena gave him a half-grin and walked around to his side of the desk to give him a peck on the cheek.

"Well, we'd be nothing without pragmatic and level-headed witches and wizards, such as Hermione Granger. In my opinion, they are the ones who are the most influential. Regardless, Hermione is incredible," she paused.

"And I'm—remarkable," she said as if it pained her to admit. "As you say. And one day the both of us will be in the pages of some book talking about incredible and remarkable witches."

It was all to appease him. She didn't really think that highly of herself.

He recognized the deceit and precariousness in her voice. He had heard it in his late sister Ariana's voice before. She would look at him the same way Alena looked at him, too. With soft eyes full of wonder... and of fear.

They were both afraid of their own magic and power. Both afraid of hurting others. Both afraid of disappointing him.

"It is not my intention to compare two perfectly brilliant witches, dear. I just think that you purposefully forget who you are and it pains me to see it. You are doing yourself and the world a great disservice by continuously rejecting that which you carry within."

Her eyes shifted around his face, studying it.

"No, I'm not talking about your _Dumbledore_ blood. I'm simply referring to everything inside of you that makes you who you are. Your intuitive magic combined with your prolific mind and your reckless heart. There is no one quite like you, my Harlie."

Alena furrowed her brows and dipped the corner of her mouth. He remained seated as he took her hands in his and squeezed.

"I'm very proud to be your grandfather. Don't hold back on the account of others. Be as great as you are," he told her.

She nodded and began heading for the door.

"Oh, and Alena," he called out as she was nearly out of the room. "The charms on the uniform, dear. I would get rid of them." 

✶ 

She had no time to remove the charms from her robes—she was already late to her Defense Against the Dark Arts class. She doubted Professor Moody would notice them, anyway. Alena walked inside the classroom discreetly, that is until someone shouted, "Oh, look! Hatstall's finally here!"

She wanted to melt into the ground. "Any particular reason you've arrived late, Miss—?"

"Dumbledore. Sorry, Professor. Morning meeting with the Headmaster," she replied diffidently. "It won't happen again, promise."

She could feel the eyerolls going off like fireworks in the room.

It was odd that Professor Moody had forgotten who she was. Her grandfather had introduced her to him before and he was also present at her Sorting the previous night.

"Very well, take a seat Miss Dumbledore," he replied in a slightly annoyed tone.

She sat in the back of the classroom at the only available desk. She was the only one who didn't have a desk mate. Her mind was overstimulated with new places, new people, new everything, so she could barely stay focused on the matter at hand.

She awakened from her daydream when Professor Moody tossed a piece of parchment at Seamus Finnigan, the Gryffindor who had irksomely announced her entrance and who happened to be sitting in the row in front of hers. They were discussing the three unforgivable curses.

Her first class at Hogwarts proved to be the most uncomfortable and agonizing class she'd ever taken. They witnessed Professor Moody perform the three unforgivables on an amblypygi. Most students were seriously disturbed—Hermione Granger even shouted at the professor to stop.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Aleena whispered to herself, her hand cupped over her mouth after Professor Moody performed the killing curse on the amblypygi.

"What was that, Miss Dumbledore?" Moody questioned from across the room. She was taken aback by his acute sense of hearing.

"Sorry, I think I'm going to be sick. May I please be excused?" She couldn't bear the sight of poor, defenseless whip scorpion any longer.

"I thought you of all people would be well educated in this particular subject," he quipped with his eyebrow raised.

"I've been taught about the unforgivable curses by Professor Snape, yes. But he never took such a—" she paused and shifted her gaze at the eyes staring back at her, "such a hands-on approach."

He cleared his throat and released his elevated brow. "Well, go on then."

She hadn't noticed Draco Malfoy's intense glare until now. It had been obvious to her that he was in the class as soon as she had walked in—his snowy blonde hair was hard to miss. But she hadn't dwelled on his presence at all. Alena glared back at him with furrowed brows and squinty-eyes as she stood up to leave. His eyes widened and he looked away indignantly.


	9. Watchful Eyes

✶ 

_"Sometimes I think,_   
_I need a spare heart to feel_   
_all the things I feel."_

Sanober Khan

✶ 

Later in the day, Alena and a group of Hufflepuffs went to the Great Hall to witness as students entered their names into the Goblet of Fire. She stood at the edge of the age line as she watched. Suddenly, Cedric was standing next to her—taking a deep breath, preparing himself for what he was about to do.

"Are you sure about this, Diggory?" She asked gently.

"I'm sure. I'm ready," he replied with a side smile.

"I have a strong feeling you'll be picked," she smiled back. "Call it intuition."

She really did feel like he'd be picked. It was like the train all over again—unanticipated and uncalled for. Several students had already entered their names into the Goblet right in front of her and she'd felt nothing. Something shifted when Cedric arrived with the same intent. The sensation in her gut wasn't really describable; it was simply a gut feeling.

It was always hard to decipher the difference between apprehension and excitement, as the same sort of fluttery anticipation grew inside her belly with both feelings.

"Hopefully you're right, Dumbledore." He passed the threshold and the room erupted in cheers.

As he dropped his name into the glowing chalice, Alena could finally put a name to the sentiment inside her. It was dread.

He was her new friend and it was a dangerous competition. He'd be picked and she'd be worried.

It was all inexperienced accumency at this point. Might as well be a fickle rumour. But the dread inside her was bitter and cold.

Alena spotted Hermione sitting on a bench across from the Goblet, lost in a giant book. They hadn't been introduced, but Alena was keen on making acquaintance with her—perhaps even spark a friendship. The time-turner was a good ice-breaker.

Alena cleared her throat and braced herself.

"Hermione Granger?" She asked. "I'm Alena—uh—Dumbledore. Do you mind if I sit for a moment?"

Hermione slammed her book shut. "Oh, yes... of course. Go ahead, please." She shifted in her seat to make room for Alena.

"Sorry to interrupt your reading, but my grandfather said I could talk to you about something. Only you."

"Sure, anything. What is it?" Hermione was intrigued.

Alena took a seat and crossed her legs. She leaned forward, resting her elbow upon her knee and her chin upon her palm. "He insists I use a time-turner to take more classes. Personally, I'm not so keen on the idea. But he said you'd know something about it," she shared in a hushed tone.

"Yes, I did use one my fourth year, but I ended up returning it to Professor McGonagall. The workload was entirely too much, and not really worth it. I decided it made more sense to drop Divination—which is a bunch of rubbish anyway—and also Muggle Studies. I'm muggle-born, so it was just redundant."

"I see, that makes sense," she sighed. "I'm definitely not looking forward to adding more hours to my day," Alena said resigned.

"It's not too bad," Hermione said unconvincingly with a half-smile. "Just try it out and see how it goes. You should sit with Harry, Ron, and I at dinner tonight, so I can tell you more about it. We won't tell them you _have_ _one_ , of course."

"Won't they figure it out?"

"They're easily fooled," Hermione smiled. "By me, at least."

A set of lively, red-headed twins interrupted as they stormed in with a plan to get their names in the Goblet using an aging potion.

_It's not going to work._

"It's not going to work," Hermione teased in a sing-songy voice. They both came around behind Hermione and Alena and peered over their shoulders.

"Hermione—why don't you introduce us to your pretty new friend and _then_ you can lecture us on why our plan won't work?" One of them asked.

"You know exactly who she is. Alena, they're Fred and George Weasley, our in-house clown wizard duo," she pointed at each respective twin with her chin. "Fred, George—you see this? This is an age line. Coincidentally, Alena's grandfather drew it himself. You know, _Dumbledore?"_

"Pleasure!" they both said at the same time, each offering a handshake.

"And so what, Hermione?" The other asked.

"So what? So a genius like Dumbledore could not possibly be fooled by a dodge as pathetically dimwitted as an aging potion. Wouldn't you agree, Alena?"

Alena turned around to look at the vials in the twins' hands. "Sorry, what was your name again?" she asked the twin who was looming over her.

"I'm George, he's Fred," he replied through a smirk. "If you ever have trouble, I'm the better-looking one." He gave her an exaggerated wink.

Alena smiled and glared playfully at him at the same time.

"George—May I?" Alena grabbed George's vial and examined it. "It all depends on how good of a potion you've prepared."

She held the vial up to her eye to examine it and then up to her nose to take a whiff. "Hmm," she pursed her lips and whirled the bottle around. "I'm not placing any bets in your favor, boys." She handed George his vial back. "Sorry."

"Oh, what rubbish," Fred teased.

The twins were determined to put their trickery to the test. George leaned in over Alena's shoulder again and said, "Watch this, Dumbledore." She was thoroughly amused, knowing full well Hermione was right. There was absolutely no way a simple aging potion was going to fool her grandfather's age line.

They were ecstatic when the potion allowed them inside the threshold long enough for them to enter their names into the Goblet.

"Yeeees!" They both bellowed enthusiastically.

"You should've bet on it, Dumbledore!" A twin she assumed to be George shouted over everyone's cheers as he pointed at her. Alena smirked and raised both of her eyebrows, counting down inside her head.

_Five, four, three, two... one._

Their glee was short-lived as they _and_ their names were cast out of the age line rather dramatically. The potion caused them to age far too much and a fight broke out between them.

Hermione turned to look at Alena and they both burst out in laughter. "Anyway, as I was saying. Sit with us at the Gryffindor table tonight if you'd like. Ron and Harry—they'll both be pleased to meet you."

"Thank you, Hermione, I really appreciate it. I'll see you at dinner," she said grinningly.

By the time Alena stood up and made her way toward the doors, the fight between Fred and George had seized and the entire room had been captivated by the entrance of Viktor Krum and his herd of Durmstrang boys. Alena wasn't at all interested herself, so she continued toward the exit.

George nearly jumped in front of her on her way out, startling the unsuspecting witch. He was still sporting long, gray hair and Merlin's beard.

"You're not going to tell your grandfather about the aging potion, are you? We only meant to get a few weeks older. We're practically seventeen already."

She looked at him, bewildered. "Well, what's in it for me?"

"I'll buy you anything you want from Honeydukes?" He shrugged.

She gently pushed his shoulder. "Of course I won't tell on you, don't be silly. You obviously don't need to get me anything, dear," she giggled.

"Then how will I get you to come to Hogsmeade with us this weekend?" He asked with a giant smirk on his face.

"By asking, of course."

"Alright, you're coming with us to Hogsmeade. I'm George, by the way. Just so you know which one of us you're talking to."

"Well, it's very nice to meet you, George," they shook hands again. "I must say, I am a fan of your work, even though I've only seen a glimpse."

"Don't make me blush," he teased.

"You know, my grandfather warned me about some Gryffindors who are prone to trouble. I think I know who he was referring to now." She looked at him with squinty-eyes. "Well, I've got to run, but I do hope that soon you'll teach me how to tell you apart from your brother!"

"Definitely! See you around, Dumbledore," he said as he gestured a salute. "Don't forget, Hogsmeade this weekend!"

Alena finally made it out of the Great Hall and took a deep breath. Her palms and forehead had a hint of perspiration. She put her hands up to her cheeks and felt the warmth radiating from her face. Sometimes talking to new people was a rather difficult and exhausting task for her. But she had to admit she was quite happy with her social interactions so far.

✶ 

Draco's mind wandered to that morning, when he watched Alena glide into his Defense Against the Dark Arts class—late. Snowy white hair with two stupid knots at the top. Little golden trinkets adorning them. He hadn't heard a word coming from Professor Moody's mouth before she entered, much less after. He was anticipating her.

Except he wasn't. He was denying.   
Denying, denying, denying.

Observing, looking for any sign of weakness. Anything he could grab onto to fuel his hate. If she were any other witch, her blood-treachery would've been enough.

_Did she really... transfigure her robes and think no one would notice?_

He noticed.

She had made the yellow hues in her Hufflepuff tie, crest, and cloak far less obnoxious. Oh, and the skirt was a lot shorter. He took a deep breath when he noticed that. She wore it up to her waist with her uniform blouse and vest loosely tucked inside it. Her socks went all the way up to her thighs.

She sat at the back of the class alone. He turned to look at his deskmate, Goyle, and grimaced. He wouldn't mind having a more visually appealing person to share his desk with. Should he come up with an excuse to sit next to her?

 _No_.

He'd made the choice to pretend she didn't exist.

Then why on earth had he followed a group of Hufflepuffs to the Great Hall in the middle of the day? He had no idea. Once there, he saw Alena talk to that delusional Hufflepuff, Diggory, who proceeded to enter his name into the Goblet.

 _Waste of time,_ he thought.

There was no way Diggory would actually be selected as the best Hogwarts had to offer. He watched her approach Granger and engage in conversation with her.

_She's friends with that filthy mudblood?_

He wasn't surprised.

"Draco, what are you doing here? I thought you said you were going to the library."

"Merlin, Laveau, are you stalking me or something?" He looked like he had been caught red handed.

Katerina squinted her eyes at him. "No... Some friends and I came to watch people enter their name into the Goblet. Why are you acting so weird?"

"I'm not acting weird. Stop following me around, I swear. You're obsessed," he rolled his eyes.

The red-haired witch scoffed. "Did you even hear me? I didn't follow you. I said some friends and I... are you kidding me? Is _that_ why you're here?" Her eyes wandered towards Alena.

"What are you on about? This is the Great Hall, _Katerina_. You're acting like you've just bumped into me in the fucking Hufflepuff common room. Bugger off."

"I'm a lot of things, Draco Malfoy, but I'm definitely not dense. Not only is your new crush a Dumbledore, but she's a blood-traitor. I bet your father will be so proud to know you're drooling all around the school over that—"

"Hufflepuff? I don't suppose you've forgotten you're one, too? No matter how badly you wish you were a Slytherin, you will always be nothing but a pathetic little Hufflepuff. I suggest you keep yourself out of my business," he glared at her and started walking away. "And don't bloody follow me."

Katerina stood there with her mouth agape and a bewildered expression on her face.

The platinum-haired wizard found some Slytherins to stand near and continued to gawk at the silver-haired witch in a manner which he believed to be inconspicuous.

_I should... go. I should leave._

He didn't move—his eyes continued to seer into her. One of the Weasley clowns had his hands over her shoulders and his face really close to hers. She looked so small as he towered over her.

How was it always the sodding Gryffindors? How did they manage to get so close so soon?

_I bet she'll be snogging Saint Potter in no fucking time._

He desperately needed to gather real reasons to hate her. It wasn't going very well.

There was one thing that he noticed. She was seemingly weak, as she could not even stomach one class with Professor Moody. It was just a little whip scorpion getting tortured and killed, and she was unable to keep her breakfast down.

Or maybe she was just sensitive. Maybe she just really liked and cared for animals, like his Mum. She was the strongest woman he knew, she just happened to have an incredibly soft spot for little creatures. It wasn't a weakness, it was an lovely trait.

And on that note, Draco left the Great Hall swiftly and forced his mind to think about something else, anything else. Quidditch, croissants, kneazles, tattoo ideas, Golpalott's Third Law, apples—no, not apples.

✶ 

The rest of Alena's day was pure chaos. She tried her best to use the time-turner according to a couple of vague instructions on a scrap of parchment her grandfather had given her. The lack of clarity combined with his spidery handwriting practically made them a riddle.

She managed, but that was it. Sometimes it felt thwarting how he just assumed she'd figure things out. She always did, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

Another witch might have tackled the day brilliantly, but the thoughts in Alena's mind were beginning to become a jumbled mess again. She scurried into her mint suitcase and opened her glass apothecary cabinet despairingly.

All her Draught of Peace vials were empty. She shuffled all her glass potion bottles and read through all the labels.

_Cough Potion, Developing Solution, Burn-Healing Paste, Oblivious Unction, Wit-Sharpening Potion, Blemish Blitzer, Doxycide, Burning Bitterroot Balm... Invigoration Draught... Calming Draught..._

She held the Invigoration and Calming Draught bottles in each of her hands.

_No, no. This is not what I need._

She placed them back into the cabinet. The Invigoration Draught would have her bouncing off the walls and the Calming Draught would knock her out.

What she needed was Draught of Peace. Professor Snape had taught her to brew it when she was thirteen years old, the same year he began teaching her occlumency. He had discovered some things deep inside her mind—disturbing and unsettling things. He taught her to brew the potion to help with her anxiety. It came in waves. No particular triggers—at least none that she'd put her finger on.

Snape was aware of Alena's consistent use of this particular draught, although he didn't know just how consistent her use of it was. There were certain risks and dangers associated with it, just like with any other potion. Nevertheless, he kept her secret and sometimes brewed some for her himself.

Five vials a month had gone up to seven vials.

Alena couldn't bare the thought of her grandfather knowing about her internal struggles. The things she battled inside her head on a daily basis, the same things that made her have a hard time focusing. To him, she was nothing's short of extraordinary. And those sort of things she dealt with—she didn't think extraordinary witches and wizards dealt with them.

Despite her young age, she understood that it was normal how she felt. Of course there would be dread, despair, grief, uncertainty—anxiety. She'd witnessed her parents get killed right in front of her eyes. Then she'd been thrown into this life of grand expectations out of the blue with no real intention or plan of action to heal.

Alena shook away all the gloomy thoughts that had crept into her mind. She swallowed a pink, round pill from a phosphorescent orange plastic bottle she fetched from a secret compartment inside her cabinet.

It was muggle anti-anxiety medication she had stored in case of emergencies.

She inspected her reflection in the mirror. She recognized that she looked clean cut. No visible indication of the war slowly erupting inside her mind. The war she so desperately wanted to put a stopper on.

She didn't know if she was relieved or burdened by how unaffected she looked. It was a farce.

_You're fine. This is fine._

✶ 

By dinner time, all Alena wanted was to stay locked away inside her mint suitcase _._ She would've given her left kidney to skip dinner at the Great Hall, but she had already agreed to meet with Hermione, and she was admittedly excited to meet Harry and Ron.

"Alena, over here!" Hermione called out from the Gryffindor table as she waved her arm. She made her way over and sat down next to Harry Potter. Ron Weasley was sitting next to Hermione.

"Harry, Ron. This is Alena Dumble—"

"Dumbledore. Your grandfather's told me loads about you. I'm Harry and this is Ron." Harry's green eyes sparkled in the warm light of the Hall. He smiled, but not too big. He seemed genuinely intrigued by her.

"Of course you both are. Don't believe everything my grandfather has told you about me, by the way. He's ridiculously biased," Alena laughed.

"Biased? He hasn't said a single good thing about you," Ron joked. "Not that I talk to him very much myself." His mouth was full as he spoke. Alena immediately found him endearing.

Harry laughed and added, "In that case, don't believe anything he's said about me either."

"First official day at Hogwarts and already you're at the Gryffindor table... Has Hufflepuff treated you _that_ bad?" asked Ron.

"Not at all, Ron, Hufflepuff's great actually. Hermione's just invited me to join you all tonight and I'm not necessarily prejudiced against any house, so here I am." She glanced over to the Hufflepuff table. Cedric, who was sitting with a group of friends, was already looking at her and waved.

She waved back guiltily with an awkward smile. 

"Not prejudiced—even against Slytherins?" he scoffed. 

"Well... I'll try to give them the benefit of the doubt. It's the least I can do. If I judge all of them by the color of their robes then I'd be just as bad as them, wouldn't I?"

"Don't bother. They're so unbearable they can't even stand themselves," grumbled Hermione. "Sometimes I wish I would've never returned my time-turner so I could go back in time and strangle Salazar Slytherin. Then the whole house wouldn't exist.

Ron and Harry sniggered. This was Hermione's clever way of bringing up the time-turner without being obvious.

"Not that I could go back further than five hours, anyway."

"Time-turner?" Alena inquired artificially.

"Hermione's such a swot that the Ministry actually gave her a time-turner fourth year to take more classes," Ron swept his eyes to the side to look at Hermione. He gave a half-smile that made Alena think he was actually quite proud of Hermione.

Hermione looked at Alena smilingly, acknowledging the fact that Ron had just inadvertently called both of them swots.

Alena raised her brows and pursed her lips. "Well now you've got to tell me all about it, Hermione. Spare no details, darling."

"Oh, alright," she replied. "I'm so reluctant to share but since _you_ _asked_." Her face was bright with amusement.

Ron groaned. "You don't look reluctant, Hermione. You look really eager."

Hermione glared at him. "Shush, Ronald. Eat your dinner."

"Ron's still upset that he didn't get to travel back in time with Hermione and I that one time," Harry mocked. "It's not like it was a field trip, Ron."

Hermione went on to tell her all about her experience with the time-turner and how it was for her taking the extra classes. She subtly gave her some tips and tricks, as well as some warnings. Alena felt like she could breathe a little better—now that she had a better idea of how to use this device that had been sprung on her just that morning.

"Oi, Alena. Beware of peering eyes," Ron pointed at the Slytherin table with his chin.   
Harry and Alena turned their necks to find Draco Malfoy and his group of friends looking in their direction and snickering with one another.

"Why me? Maybe they're looking at one of you." Alena swept her eyes back at her new Gryffindor friends. "Or all three of you."

"I've just now realized how well I know Draco Malfoy and it's made me sort of sick. You see, he's been trying to make our lives miserable since day one..." Harry started.

"Oh, definitely," Ron interrupted. "It's obvious it's not Harry, Hermione, or I who've got his attention," Ron said, with a hint of relief in his tone. "Maybe this will finally be the year he bothers someone else for a change." He eyed Alena.

"Ron!" Hermione smacked him on the head. "Don't be rude."

He flinched. "What? I'm just saying. She's the headmaster's granddaughter, so he probably wouldn't get away with it, anyway." Ron shrugged at Alena and she shrugged back.

"What if... it's a different kind of interest though?" Hermione suggested as she continued to eye the Slytherin.

"Ew—Hermione, you don't mean..." Ron and Harry scrunched up their noses. "You don't mean he _fancies_ her, do you?" Ron said in his signature whiny cadence.

"He does not fancy me in the slightest, trust me," She lied. She knew that at the very least, he did have _some_ positive feelings about her, even if they were mixed with inexplicably vile ones—based on what she had perceived on the train.

"We came to the castle on the same carriage yesterday and he ignored me the entire way. And he hasn't stopped sneering at me at every turn. I'm not sure why, but I just know he hates my guts," Alena explained with an amused look. "If anything he's closer to plotting my death than fancying me."

"Don't take it personally," Harry assured. "He practically hates anyone who's not a Slytherin. And if he's plotting your death it's because he's done plotting ours." He smiled as he chewed his dinner.

Alena gripped Harry's arm gently as she broke out in laughter. "Well, thanks Harry. That makes me a lot feel better."

Hermione caught a glimpse of the expression on Draco's face as he watched Alena's grip on Harry. His gaze was so fixed on her hand that it was almost as if the light hitting Alena's rings was bouncing directly into his eyes. The interaction was brief, but Draco's watchful glare remained on Harry's arm long after her hand had stopped touching him.

His friends were speaking to him, but he was too engulfed in his thoughts to respond. Hermione imagined he was picturing Alena and Harry getting married and having children by the way his hands were balled into fists over the table. He finally reacted when Pansy Parkinson snapped her fingers in his face.


	10. Draught of Peace

✶

_"Anxiety was born in the very same_   
_moment as mankind. And since we will_   
_never be able to master it, we will have_   
_to learn to live with it—just as we_   
_have learned to live with storms."_

Paulo Coelho

✶

"Professor?" Alena said nervously, as she knocked on the door of Professor Snape's office in the cold dungeons.

"Harlie?" He called out from inside. "Come in."

She opened the door to find the black-haired potions master sitting at his desk, grading papers. He looked up briefly to confirm it was her voice he had heard. The warmth from the fireplace kissed her face instantly.

"What is it?" He asked, as he wrote aggressively on some poor soul's parchment.

"I... well, first of all, how have you been? You look well. And secondly... I was just wondering if you have any Draught of Peace?"

She fidgeted and wavered around Professor Snape. Their relationship was... complicated.

His quill stopped abruptly and his gaze darted at Alena. He attempted to use legilimency on her while examining her face carefully—but he did not succeed. She _had_ been taught to shield her mind by one of the best occlumens, after all.

"What troubles you?" He asked. The corner of his mouth quirked—as if he was holding in anything that would imply concern.

"Nothing, it's just... preventative. I ran out and haven't had time to brew more for my apothecary stores."

"Don't you think it's time you talk to your grandfather about this?"

Alena's eyes flashed slight panic. "There's nothing to talk about. I have all the means to brew it myself. I was just wondering if you had any to spare." She blinked several times in a row, her long eyelashes fluttering nervously. "For the meantime."

He looked at her with a blank expression and took a while to respond. "Sit. I may have a few vials." He rummaged through some bottles on a shelf behind his desk. The glasses and bottles clinked against each other as he pushed through them to find the vials.

"Coincidentally, we are brewing Draught of Peace in class today. Your classmates will be learning to brew it for the first time. Since you already know how, I'll expect you to brew several batches at once."

He handed her two small vials, albeit reluctantly. "And I will be checking each of your brews vigorously for quality and precision."

"Right. Thank you, Professor."

He pulled out a small leather pouch from his desk drawer. "Here. Take this," he said to her.

"What is it?"

"A couple of moonstone rocks—of an assorted variety. Some rare kinds. There's a bottle of powdered moonstone as well, for your brews."

Alena gave a suppressed smiled as she reached for the leather pouch. "Ah. You remembered. Yes, they are some of my favorites. Thank you."

The thought of this cold, emotionless man collecting moonstones for her made her heart warm. Professor Snape's association with her grandfather was not necessarily a good one; she had sensed the contempt from both sides early on. Although they didn't like each other, they seemed to admit the other deserved a certain level of respect.

Despite his reservations about Dumbledore, Snape had grown fond of his clever granddaughter over the years. And much like the grumpy Pukwudgies at Ilvermorny, she felt Snape's inclination for her was hesitant and resisted, perhaps even conditional.

She knew that his fondness mainly surged from his admiration of her skills and proficiencies, many of which he attributed to himself, of course—having been the one to teach her. But as emotionally stunted and callous as this man was, he sometimes did things that felt very fatherly to Alena.

And it stung. The realization that forevermore she'd consider little things older men did for her as "fatherly." Because she was deprived of a father. Because she craved one.

It was like a bite of the most bitter dark chocolate. A red rose with hidden sharp thorns. Getting a tiny glimpse of what it would have been like, just to realize it wouldn't have been like that at all.

_Thatcher Harlowe was my father and he would never hold back for me._

"You know I only do this because I trust that you're responsible. But I must remind you to be very careful. Your grandfather will never forgive me if anything happens to you."

_Will you ever forgive yourself?_

"I know, I'll be careful."

"I hope you know the batches you brew in class are for my own stores, by the way. You will not be keeping them all," he paused and looked at her with warm eyes. It was as if in that moment, it dawned on him how much she had grown. "I wish you'd tell me every time you took a dose. I wish I could keep some sort of record."

Alena's lips scrunched to one side.

"It's too late for that now. He gave you too much, too soon. Me, as well, I'm afraid. I certainly hope it doesn't backfire, Harlie. I hope you wield your abilities and all your knowledge responsibly—always."

She nodded. There was an uninvited urge to stand up and give him a quick hug, the way she did many times growing up. He always went rigid when she did that, but he never, not once, told her to stop or to get away. As she got older, she felt his resistance, and finally gave in to it.

✶

Draco stood by Professor Snape's door frame as he watched a familiar scene.

A girl with snowy white hair sitting on the old leather chair in front of Snape's desk.

_Bloody hell._

It was second year, during the Christmas holiday. Draco had stayed at the school to accompany Crabbe and Goyle.

The three of them were only curious about any developments involving the Chamber of Secrets. There was no way in hell they wouldn't be in the castle in case anything happened.

A fuzzy memory suddenly became crystal clear. He'd put two and two together.

He had seen her before. Even as a twelve year old, he'd been mesmerized by the witch in Professor Snape's office—who he inquired about back then. Snape had looked at him coldly and said she was a relative of his.

"What's her name?"

Snape had stayed silent.

"Is she a pureblood?"

The Professor snapped at the question. "No, she's a half-blood, like me."

Twelve year old Draco frowned.

"Hmm, at least she's not a _mudblood_."

He had only caught a glimpse of her side profile—her long eye-lashes, the shape of her little nose, and plump lips. The young, curious wizard had stood by the door for only a few seconds before being spotted by Snape. Those few seconds were enough for Draco to get lost in the silhouette of her dainty face—and in her sweet voice.

"Fire seeds, powdered Graphorn horn, Billywig stings and Chizpurfle carapaces—the antidote to uncommon poisons," he had heard her say.

He hadn't figured it out sooner because it was supposed to be impossible, since Snape had specifically stated the girl was a half-blood. He knew Aleena to be a pureblooded witch, as she had all four wizard-born grandparents—his father had told him.

" _She's_ the girl from second year? From the Christmas holiday?" Draco asked abruptly, startling both Snape and Alena. "You said she was a relative of yours."

Professor Snape furrowed his brows. "Don't you knock, Draco?"

Alena stood up quickly and smoothed down her skirt. "I was just on my way out. Thank you, Professor. I'll see you in class."

Draco flinched slightly as she approached the door frame. She stood in front of him, waiting for him to move. He didn't.

"Miss Dumbledore—the charms on the uniform. I don't want to see it again." Professor Snape called out as she slid through the door sideways, avoiding contact with Draco.

He fixed his eyes on her skirt as she strode off. His eyebrow shot up and his lip curled, not having realized Snape was now standing right in front of him.

"Wake... up... Draco." The potions master snapped his fingers three times into his face. "Careful where your eyes wander."

"You should really tell her to keep her robes on during the day. It's distracting."

Snape clenched his jaw.

"You've been teaching her since second year, haven't you?" Draco invited himself into the office and sat down on the chair with his legs apart and his elbow on the chair's armrest.

"That's none of your concern," Snape stayed put by the door. He had been teaching her long before second year.

"She's advanced."

Draco had made a mental note that Snape taught the antidote to uncommon poisons in class until fourth year.

Snape gave him an irritated glare. "She's Dumbledore's granddaughter... what did you expect? Obviously... she's highly skilled in many areas—is there something you need... Draco?"

"If that's true then why would she choose Hufflepuff? It doesn't make any sense."

"I don't expect you would understand, but Miss Dumbledore is an unlocked mind. She's a free-thinker; a non-conformist. Don't expect her to make any sense."

"In other words, she's nothing but a pathetic flower child." He rolled his eyes and scrunched his nose in disgust.

"In other words, she's not your type." He squinted his eyes again, examining Draco's expression. Of course he had more than an inkling of what was happening inside the young wizard's clouded mind—conflicting thoughts and feelings.

Draco let out an arrogant laugh. "Please, don't make me laugh, Professor. I can already tell she's too far beneath me. Starting with her all-inclusive ideals."

"Now, now, Draco—I wouldn't be so quick to underestimate her. Like I said, she's a highly-skilled, highly-intelligent witch—"

"Is she up to par with Granger?" Draco interrupted.

Snape scoffed. "She is light-years ahead of any student in her year—including you, believe it or not. A word to the wise: your father won't be able to get you out of anything concerning Alena Dumbledore. Come to terms with the fact that our new student comes from a family that is much more revered and compelling than yours—even if her family _is_ just one wizard."

Draco looked back at him, stunned.

"Now if you don't mind," the Professor waved his hand towards the door.

Draco stood up reluctantly. "You said she was a half-blood. You lied, didn't you?"

Snape rolled his eyes. "Her records classify her as a pureblood witch—she has four wizard-born grandparents. But if you were to ask her yourself, she would tell you she's a half-blood, like her grandfather. She does not wish to be associated with the term _pureblood_."

It was unknown who her grandmother on her father's side had been. The woman whom Albus Dumbledore conceived a child with. But when Alena became an orphan, an extensive blood diagnostic spell had been cast on her, by which it was confirmed that she was a pureblood witch. Aleena never cared for any of it.

Draco's eyes widened in disbelief and disgust. "I thought you said she was highly-intelligent."

Snape smirked slowly as Draco let the room in a huff.

The platinum-haired wizard nearly floated about the corridors of the dungeons on his way to his next class—lost in the chaos erupting in his mind.

Snape's words echoed and bounced in the walls of his brain.

_She does not wish to be associated with the term pureblood._

His blood boiled. He felt like he was running out of breath. A sudden rush of desperation took over him. He had to break something—tear something apart.

_For fuck's sake. For fucking fuck's sake. Fuck!_

It hit him like a ton of bricks.

_This can't be._

He wouldn't dare admit it to himself. He had to convince himself otherwise. His perfect plan to ignore her entire existence had been crumbling since the moment he'd begun planning it.

_I hate her. I fucking hate her. She's foul._

He lied.

_She's disgusting. She's—a fucking loathsome—_

Why did it have to be her? Why did she have to look like that? Why had everything he and his father assumed about her been absolutely wrong?

And why on earth did _she_ not want to be associated with the term _pureblood?_

_A fucking loathsome blood-traitor._

He felt like that little boy on the steps of the castle on his very first night at Hogwarts, extending his hand in friendship to Harry Potter, who had refused to take it in front of all the first-years. He had never openly admitted it, perhaps not even to himself entirely, but he never felt more humiliated and rejected than in that moment by Harry _fucking_ Potter. Draco wasn't delusional, of course he knew he had been a little shit—he actively chose to be one. But that didn't take away from the fact that he still felt incredibly mortified and degraded.

That night had been a small preview of the recurring nightmare that he would endure for his entire career at Hogwarts—humiliation, embarrassment, rejection—over and over and over again by those three sodding Gryffindors. What could be worse?

A Hufflepuff. A Hufflepuff who wasn't a mudblood like Granger, and wasn't dirt-poor like Weasley. Sure, she was an orphan like Potter—but having Merlin's fucking parallel as her grandfather obviously made up for that.

Alena Dumbledore was worse than a nightmare.

His blood status was his entire identity, a symbol of his rank, a reassurance of his importance in the world—and Alena rejected the term _pureblood._ So effortlessly, she rid herself of the title and discarded it like refuse.

It meant nothing to her. She was dangerous.

His eyes had turned completely dark as he walked meaninglessly through the corridor, having made this devastating realization.

"Draco? Are you alright?" He heard Katerina's voice in the distance.

He turned his face in her direction, catching enough of his breath to scoff at what he saw.

_Unbelievable. She charmed her fucking skirt. Could she be any more obvious?_

"Come here, Kat." He instructed. Katerina nearly skipped her way to him. The dungeon corridors were empty, dim, and frigid.

His eyes fell on her, lustfully, and swept her whole body—landing on her lips.

"You did this for me?" A smirk drew across his face as he reached for the hem of her skirt. He balled the fabric in his hand and pulled her into him. Katerina shuddered and bit her lip provocatively.

"Yes, sir." She touched his prefect badge with her red-painted fingertips.

He immediately pulled her into a nearby alcove and with a wandering hand, traced her inner thigh. A rush of blood made its way to Katerina's cheeks and her breathing quickened.

"It's against the rules to transfigure school robes, Miss Laveau. Surely you know this." He whispered into her ear. He felt the goosebumps forming on her skin.

Draco pulled her into him, his hand digging into the small of her back. The same hand wandered down to her arse and endulged itself in a tight squeeze. She let him. He took his other hand and held it up to her throat. She let him. He applied pressure. She still let him. Finally, he gave her what she wanted. He kissed her passionately, with a grimace on his face, but passionately nonetheless.

Suddenly, her hand reached down between his legs.

"What the _fuck_ , Katerina?" He pushed her whole body away from his. "It's a snog, not a shag. Fuck's wrong with you?"

Her face contorted to show shock and confusion. They must've done this a hundred times last year, it was a normal occurrence for them.

"Sorry, I thought that—" her face went pale.

"You thought what? Jesus." He smoothed down his cloak. "Can't give you an inch, cause you'll take a mile. Fuck's sake."

Katerina Laveau, a girl he could have—practically any time, anywhere. Just like Sophia Ward. Kylie Turner. Faye Dunbar. Tracey Davis. His stomach turned at the thought of how fucking easy it was to have them all.

"Get rid of the charms on the skirt, Laveau. It's pathetic and demeaning."

He strode off into the hall, leaving Katerina in the alcove. She scurried behind him and grabbed him by his robes.

"Turn around, you fucking arsehole!"

He stopped and faced her, towering over and looking down on her condescendingly.

"What is wrong with you?" She pushed him.

"You're obviously unstable, Kat. Look at yourself," the disgust on his face kept growing.

She pushed him again.

"Shut up! Who do you think you are you fucking vile piece of—"

Draco grabbed her by the arm and dragged her into a nearby room. He pushed her against the wall and his hand wandered up to her throat.

"Is this what you want?" He huffed into her ear.

She whimpered but didn't say a word.

"Is this what you fucking want?" He had a strong grip on her throat. She gasped desperately as he kissed her neck.

"Tell me to stop. Push me away," he demanded.

She didn't say or do anything. She just let him kiss her and bite her and choke her.

He released his hand from her throat and continued to kiss and grope her.

"Tell me to stop. Unless you _want_ this." Again, she said nothing. She wanted it.

He pulled away from her and looked at her with disappointment and revulsion.

"You're so stupid, Katerina. How could you want someone who treats you like fucking shit?"

Her eyes shifted narrowed. She looked wounded.

✶

The month of September proved to be very industrious for Alena. She managed to be accepted into the coveted Ravenclaw Scholars club, a study group composed of only the brightest students. She and Hermione were the only non-Ravenclaws allowed into the club. She had attempted to join the Art Club for Gryffindor, but they proved to be a lot more selective, and so Alena was kicked out of the interest meeting. She thought about starting her own club—Art Club for Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin—just to spite the Gryffindors, but she decided against it for the time being.

Thankfully, her supply of Draught of Peace from Professor Snape and her own brews had helped calm her nerves enough to not feel like she was hanging on by a strand of Thestral hair. It was the transition period that had her on edge—she missed her friends back at Ilvermorny, her professors, her snakewood tree. But Luna was right, being back across the pond did begin to feel like home again.

The smell of minty herbs and moist earth filled her nostrils as she entered Greenhouse Three for Herbology. This class was her saving grace—the only reason why she had been managing the excess load of her additional classes so well. She was in her element. The fresh wind that made her curls sway pervade her with sweet nostalgia. There were days when Professor Sprout didn't speak for at least half a lesson, she just allowed students to work the greenhouses and vegetable gardens. Those days were her favorite.

The freedom and openness of Herbology was a big difference to the stifling conditions of Defense Against the Dark Arts, Potions, and Alchemy—all thanks to Draco Malfoy's nauseating and disturbing energy. It had gradually become more and more unbearable ever since that day in Snape's office. Although it wasn't an ongoing, consistent thing—as Draco's thoughts weren't entirely governed by her—it happened often enough to be considered a real nuisance.

Some days, the hatred he emitted was so substantial that it made her physically sick. She hadn't confided in anyone about it, but Alena had gone to the lavatory during class a few times in the last month, either to cry or vomit, on days when it was particularly unbearable. It was all very confusing, but she didn't dare break the silence between Draco and herself.

✶

"Luna... You know how I had to learn to shut off my legilimency? Since it would often happen on its own?" She asked Luna one night in the library.

Luna nodded, keeping her eyes on her parchment as she wrote. "Mhm."

"Well, I think I may need to learn how to shut off my... accumency. Is that weird? I used to have trouble even achieving accumency using my wand and verbal spell... and now it sort of has a mind of its own. It just happens without me even casting the spell at all."

Luna dropped her quill and looked up at her cousin. "When does this happen?"

Alena hesitated. She wasn't sure how to explain what she had been experiencing.

She cleared her throat. "I've been feeling a very... strong energy whenever I'm in an enclosed space with—" she paused and fiddled with her rings.

Luna didn't push her to complete her sentences. She just waited patiently for Alena to gather her thoughts.

"Draco Malfoy."

"When you're alone—with Draco Malfoy?"

"No, we're never alone, I mean—every time we have the same class and he's sitting rather close to me for long periods of time. It's quite intolerable sometimes. I thought that on my first day at Defense Against the Dark Arts class I'd felt sick because of Professor Moody's approach to the unforgivable curses. But I felt sick in Potions class and Alchemy as well, although not as badly. Herbology is not really an issue since we are out in the greenhouses most of the time."

"How do you know it's him?"

"Well, it was just a theory at first. But then I sort of put it to the test. I went into class very discreetly a few times. I could feel a very obvious change in the atmosphere when he definitely knew I was there, compared to when he didn't."

Luna stroked her chin and was lost in a thoughtful gaze. "That's quite curious, Lena."

"I really can't stand it anymore. It's just pure hostility. Antagonism. Malice." She made her hands into fists and waved them in front of her. "And I know—I mean, I'm almost sure it's directed at me."

Luna scrunched her nose and furrowed her brows. Her innocent eyes filled with worry.

"But—there's more to it. There are little hints of... benevolence and warmth. And that sounds nice and all, but these polar opposite feelings _obviously_ do not get along well. They don't meet harmoniously in the middle. They're in a constant violent and vicious battle with each other. That's the part that makes me sick. I think that's precisely the part that suffocates me every time I'm around him."

"Oh, dear. That's terrible," Luna came closer to Alena and held her hands as she looked intently into her eyes. "Imagine what _he_ feels."


	11. His Three Reasons

✶

_"Each friend represents a world in us,_   
_a world possibly not born until they arrive,_   
_and it is only by this meeting_   
_that a new world is born."_

Anais Nin

✶

The shift from September to October crept into the air like a thief in the night. Alena's view from her favorite window in the library had gone from displaying an active oil painting of different shades of lively greens—to now showing an intricate multicolored mosaic of warmth. There was something distinctively sweet about the fall, particularly this one. It reminded Alena of honey. Perhaps it was her mind finally giving in to the sweet surrender of her new dwelling.

The Triwizard Champions had been selected and announced—and to everyone's surprise and dismay, Harry was chosen as the fourth champion along with Cedric Diggory, Fleur Delacour, and Viktor Krum. Alena could sense Harry's quiet distress, and though they were new friends, she took it upon herself to check on him often.

The four Triwizard champions managed to survive their first challenge—which was _literally_ fighting dragons. Everyone felt like they could breathe a little better now that the first task was over and done with... until the next one in just two weeks.

In just a few weeks at Hogwarts, Alena had managed to bond with quite an amazing bunch of people; like George, who was kind and bold enough to teach her how to get around Hogwarts by use of secret passageways, and also—how to tell him apart from his twin brother. It would have been a much easier task if the Weasley twins weren't set on pretending to be each other so often.

It was such a natural friendship, Alena and George, as the two balanced each other out quite well. George was ambitious and creative—very serious about the things that interested him. Alena had been helping him expand on several brilliant ideas he'd been dreaming up with Fred. He liked that she never looked at him like he was mad when he told her about his unconventional dreams, in fact, she would listen to every word, wide-eyed and auspicious.

"The world needs more people like you, George Weasley," she told him once.

"Well, then I suppose it's quite lucky that there's two of me," he smiled. "Isn't it?"

Hermione was delighted to finally have a friend that was an intellectual like herself. Someone who she could have hour-long discussions about various magical theories and who would actively and voluntarily listen to her rambling on about the achievements of notable witches in the Wizarding world.

Not only that, but Alena genuinely enjoyed talking to her about muggle things—pop culture, technology, psychology, music, and just ordinary muggle life. It made Hermione feel like she could be her complete self to a single person, without having to hide or neglect any parts of herself, for the first time in her life.

There were times when Alena did feel the slightest bit of tension around Hermione, which was to be expected. Hermione's identity, as Alena came to find out, relied heavily, if not entirely, on her academic achievements and talents. The last thing a witch as doting as Alena Dumbledore wanted to do was make a witch as brilliant as Hermione Granger feel insecure.

Regardless, Hermione was not really competitive and she never sought to be better than anyone else, nor did she believe that she was. It was not her motivation to be the best at nearly every subject. She simply was.

"I'm just afraid of being forgotten. It's silly," Hermione confided in Alena one afternoon.

"Hermione Granger, you will be on a chocolate frog card! A gold one, no less. You're a genius, darling. To put it into perspective—you only found out you were a witch at eleven and yet you're giving us all a run for our money," Alena linked her arm around Hermione's arm and they walked together to Potions class.

Cedric became a sort of common room companion—often asking Alena to meet him in the Hufflepuff Pit to play Exploding Snap, or just to chat or read. He was drawn to her, especially after Alena had sort of predicted his selection for the tournament. He found her intuition impressive and intriguing.

They were sitting by the fireplace one night, in absolute silence—each with their noses stuck inside a book. Alena put down her book abruptly and broke the silence.

"Why did you want to compete in the tournament, Ced?" She wondered. "It's such a dangerous competition. Fills me with dread."

Cedric immediately flashed a sideways smile. "Several reasons," he closed his book and set it on the coffee table. "I guess the main reason is because I want to make my dad proud. I'm practically testing the limits of his pride in me at this point," he chuckled, and the warm smile that came with it stayed on his face.

Alena felt that sting in her chest that always came around when people spoke about their parents. She forced a smile as she gulped.

"He's just so supportive, you know? He's always been proud of every little thing I've done since I was a kid. I guess at some point I realized that what makes him the happiest is just being my dad. And he's the one that's told me my whole life that I can do anything... so why not be a Triwizard champion? I just wanted to do something that would make him prouder than ever. He deserves it."

"Awe. That's a very sweet reason, Cedric," Alena's chest was filled with warmth, but the stinging sensation remained.

"Yeah, I'm quite lucky. I can't wait to be there one day. Have my own kids and be as encouraging as my dad's always been to me. He just makes it seem like it's the best job in the world to be a dad."

"That is the most endearing thing I've ever heard, Ced. Imagine how incredibly happy he'll be when he's promoted to Grandpa," she gushed. "I can't handle it. It's too, too sweet."

Cedric laughed.

"Anyway, another reason why I entered the tournament... I know it's sort of cheesy, but I also wanted to do it for Hufflepuff. We're always being underestimated, even though we're just as good as the other houses—right, and all that rubbish. We're just not as flashy. So I decided to take one for the team," he laughed. "I know they'll still look down on us, just cause it's tradition. But at least it'll be down in the books. And the Slytherin snobs have been real quiet ever since I was up against a fucking dragon."

Alena's eyes glistened as she listened to him talk. She pursed her lips and raised her brow.

"Sorry, I don't usually curse. Especially not in front of pretty girls," he stood up to pour hot tea from a kettle into his cup. "Earl Grey?"

She nodded.

"And the last reason why I entered is kind of a personal one," he handed her the teacup carefully. "I... I just know that You-Know-Who's coming back. I don't know when, but it'll probably be during my lifetime."

Alena shuddered.

"I have every intention of fighting in that war. It's a scary thought, fighting against... him. I figured entering the competition would prepare me in some way, you know? Give me a bit of nerve. Teach me something school just can't. Maybe it's stupid, but I think it's worth it. I've never told anyone about it."

"It's not stupid. It's a very honorable reason, Cedric. You're one of the few wizards that's actually thinking ahead and preparing for what is coming. And it makes complete sense," she set her cup on the coffee table and moved from her armchair onto the spot next to him on the sofa. "We're quite lucky to have brave people like you on our side."

Cedric sighed.

"Alena, talk to me about you. Anything you want. Anything at all," he said, wrapping his arm around her shoulder.

"Hmm... well you told me about your dad, so I think I should tell you about mine," she fiddled with the sleeves of her yellow Hufflepuff knit jumper and cleared her throat.

"Alright. Dad's name was Thatcher. He was a historian and head curator at the Department of Ancient Artifacts. Sounds quite boring, but really he was sort of a legend in his field. He had so much knowledge that he'd be asked to consult different departments of MACUSA and the British and French Ministries. Anything having to do with ancient runes and artifacts, magical beasts, arithmancy—he was the guy to call. He did a lot of research for the Ministry, as well. And so he'd take Mum and I to France and the States with him often, and I'd feel like a little celebrity," she smiled but her eyes were sad.

"I was Thatcher Harlowe's kid, everybody knew Thatcher Harlowe. Of course, that was just my interpretation as a six and seven year old. He was just well-known in those specific departments," she laughed.

Cedric grabbed on to her hand as she spoke, listening attentively to every word, the same way she'd listen to him almost every night in the common room.

"Anyway, I was just a kid, but I was very happy being Alena Harlowe."

"But you're still Alena Harlowe."

"Yes, Alena Harlowe Dumbledore Lovegood. One of those things is not like the others," she quirked a brow and tilted her head.

"Well, fine, you're not like the others," he smiled.

"Ah, well that's the thing, I think I really am. I think if my parents wouldn't have died and I would've never known I was a Dumbledore, and I came here as a first-year, being just Alena Harlowe—things would have been very different."

He noticed the sadness in her eyes.

"Do you resent him? Your grandfather," he asked politely.

"No, no. Not at all. I love him. I saw him transform from this lonesome, almost forlorn individual who was estranged and devoid of family, you know—to what he is now. A very loving and devoted grandfather. He tried everything, he really poured himself into me and made me feel like I wasn't deserted, as an orphan ought to feel. He met me the same day my parents died and made sure I knew that I still belonged somewhere. And I do. Even though sometimes the expectations and the scrutiny overwhelms me... I always have a place to go, a person to call, who will make it all better."

Her blue-green eyes welled up and released a single tear when she blinked. Cedric wiped it away with his thumb.

"It's just a lot sometimes. I feel like I've lived multiple lives and I can't see an unfluctuating place to land. I was Alena Harlowe, but that girl is gone. I was Alena Dumbledore, but at Ilvermorny that meant a different thing than it does here. Here I'm Albus Dumbledore's granddaughter. They're all looking at me. Half of them want to watch me fall. The other half want to put me on a pedestal far to soon. And I... I just want to go on with my life like my grandfather's formidable legacy isn't falling entirely on my shoulders."

"Alena, I've seen the way your grandfather looks at you and I recognize that look. It's the same way my dad looks at me. Pride. And love. I think whatever it is you do, wherever it is you go, he'll still be happy to be your grandfather," he paused.

"What is a girl like you passionate about?"

Alena wiped another rogue tear from her face with her sleeve, and straightened her posture.

"My parents were fervent activists for muggle and muggle-born rights, until the very end. They taught me that if anybody labels me a blood-traitor, I should wear it like a badge of honor. It means I'm a sympathizer," she smiled. "Not one who pities, as there's absolutely nothing to pity. But one who relates harmoniously."

She paused for a moment, collecting her thoughts.

"Sometimes I feel like it was for nothing. Sometimes I feel like nothing's changed. There are still pureblood elitists parading around with their god-complex in full view. And it upsets me that no one knows why my parents were killed, and no one knows how much they did and how much they sacrificed for such an important cause. But then I remember that they didn't do any of it for recognition or anything of the sort. They just did it because it was the right thing to do."

Cedric pulled her in and tucked her head under his chin.

"By any chance were they Hufflepuffs?" Cedric asked.

"Yes, Dad was. Head boy and everything."

✶

Queenie strode into the Hufflepuff common room with her brown tail in the air and sat on Alena's lap.

"There you are, Queenie. I haven't seen you in days, darling. Where've you been?" Alena pet her head gently and planted a kiss between her ears.

"I hope you've been in good company."


	12. Slytherin Pissing Match

✶

_"Jealousy is love in competition."_

Toba Beta

✶

There had been word going around that Adrian Pucey, a charming seventh-year Slytherin boy, had developed a special interest in Alena. He hadn't really done much besides engage in small talk and ask academic questions, usually about Alchemy, which they both took. She didn't mind him since he was always polite and respectful.

Much to her vexation, she also gained the attention of another much more brazen Slytherin—Marcus Flint. _His_ specialinterest, however, seemed to be to obnoxiously flirt with Alena in order to irritate his fellow Slytherin, Adrian.

At least that was her theory.

Flint went as far as to sit at the Hufflepuff table one morning while Alena was having breakfast with Luna. He went on and on about how a Slytherin wouldn't be caught dead sitting at another house's table—much less the _Hufflepuff_ table—as if it was supposed to impress her that he had made such a painful sacrifice just to sit with her. Alena had narrowed her eyes and looked across the Hufflepuff table to see a Slytherin boy sitting closely with a Hufflepuff girl.

_What a load of waffle._

Marcus Flint kept looking back at a pack of Slytherins as if he'd truly achieved something great. She just sat there and ate her oatmeal flipping through Luna's copy of _The Quibbler_ while Flint bragged about his quidditch endeavors and simultaneously insulted every other house.

"She's not really a morning person," Luna gave Flint a wan smile as she tried to excuse Alena's indifference.

✶

"Maybe he'll ask you to the Yule Ball," Hermione teased at lunch that afternoon.

"Hermione, I sure hope not," Alena grimaced as she cut into her meatloaf. "I'm practically useless at saying no when caught off guard."

"I seriously doubt that," Hermione assured.

Ron arrived without a greeting and swiftly grabbed a turkey leg, biting into it before even putting it on his plate.

"Lena, I heard Flint's going around saying he's going to ask you to the Yule Ball. Lucky girl, huh?" His mouth was full. "It's all anyone's been talking about."

She put down her fork and knife on each side of her plate and stared at him blankly.

"Brilliant. I love being the topic of conversation—especially along with Marcus Flint. The ball is mere weeks away and there's no sign of anyone besides him asking me. I might as well just ask him myself and get it over with," she said in a sarcastically whiny tone. The ball was over a month away and she had no intention of worrying about it at all for another couple of weeks.

"Bloody hell, Lena, calm down. None of us have got dates either," Ron responded. Alena smiled, knowing her sarcasm was far too subtle for Ron to understand. To him, she was seriously being a hysterical girl.

"Even Harry hasn't got a date, and he's a sodding Triwizard champion, isn't he?"

Harry was just arriving to the table as Ron uttered those words. "Thanks, mate," he said to Ron. "What'd I miss?"

Cedric stopped as he was walking by their table and said, "Hey, Alena. I heard that—"

"Stop. Do not say the words Marcus Flint to me, or I swear I will flip this table over," she threatened with a smirk.

"Have you seen that guy?" He pointed over at the Slytherin table with his thumb. "No one else will want to ask you to the ball after knowing he's pining after you. He's a scary looking bloke," he teased.

"Well I sure hope that whoever would like to ask me isn't that big of a coward," she laughed. " _If_ anyone would like to ask."

Cedric rolled his eyes. "Right— _if_ anyone would like to ask. You know, you can always go with Theo Nott. He doesn't shut up about you."

"Another bloody Slytherin? Blimey, Lena—what on earth are you doing to them?" Ron looked at her in astonishment. "Just imagine the common room conversations."

"I'd rather not. It's just the new girl syndrome," she cringed. "They'll get over it soon... I pray."

"It's a whole phenomenon, actually. Slytherin blokes love Hufflepuff girls. They just hate to admit it," Cedric said, very matter-of-factly.

"How bizarre," Alena muttered, she was now visibly flustered.

"Hey, you've got Pucey, Nott, and Flint. I think you're a tosser short, Lena," Harry elbowed her arm.

"Malfoy!" Ron said in a hushed voice, leaning forward.

"Ah, yes—Malfoy, my next conquest. Have you seen that jawline?" She said bitingly. "Those piercing eyes, and that have you noticed how tall he is?"

"Alright, that's my cue to go. See you later, Alena," Cedric dismissed himself.

Ron groaned as he pushed away his plate. "Bloody hell, I think I may have lost my appetite."

"Serves you right, Ronald," Hermione sniggered.

"I lost my appetite when the topic of Flint came about," Alena glared at Hermione playfully. "He's awful. I couldn't even have a proper breakfast with Luna this morning without him pestering us."

The trio looked at Alena with understanding pity riddled in their expressions.

"Alright, you won't hear the word _Flint_ out of us for the rest of the day," Harry promised.

Luna appeared behind Alena as if she had been summoned. Harry, Ron, and Hermione looked at the airy witch in bewilderment.

"How'd she do that?" Ron whispered to Hermione.

"Lena, your grandfather sent this for you," she said as she handed her a small, purple suede pouch with golden drawstrings.

"What is it?"

"Phoenix flints. It appears Fawkes has coughed up a batch this morning," she replied, leaning over Alena from behind and hugging her shoulders.

"Phoenix FLINTS?" Ron blurted out as he burst into laughter, Harry and Hermione following suit.

Alena buried her face in her hands and laughed into them. "Amazing timing, Fawkes," she gasped.

"It's fate!" Ron picked up the pouch by the drawstrings and held it out in front of them.

✶

"What's going on?" Draco questioned Blaise as he strode into the Slytherin common room carrying a white and brown Munchkin cat.

"Wizards chess to see who gets to ask Alena Dumbledore to the Yule Ball," Blaise replied.

Draco groaned and rolled his eyes strenuously as he slumped into the leather sofa and slid down until he reached the end of the seat. The cat positioned itself on his lap and purred.

"I didn't know you had a cat," Blaise pointed out.

"I don't. She's been following me around the castle." The cat climbed up Draco's chest and curled up in the nook of his neck. "She's a sweet girl."

"I'm more of an owl person," replied Blaise.

"Anyway, if Adrian would have half a brain, he'd let Flint have a go at asking her. No bloody chance she'll say yes to that oaf," he said as he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his eyes closed.

Theo barged in and sat uncomfortably close to Draco.

"Nice pussy," he said smugly. "Can I touch it?"

"I heard these tossers are playing chess to see who could ask Dumbledore to the ball," he placed his feet on the coffee table and crossed his arms behind his head. "How're you holding up, Draco?"

Draco didn't bother looking up. "Ugh, don't call her Dumbledore. I just picture her old, wrinkly grandfather."

"You're right. I think Hufflepuff Angel is much more fitting," Theo observed Draco for any signs jealousy.

"Hufflepuff Angel? Are you barking mad?"

Theo tousled Draco's hair before resting his hand on the cat lying on top of him.

"Anyway—these idiots are just wasting their time. I've already asked her."

Draco straightened up his posture and immediately tensed up.

"Bullshit. You wouldn't," he murmured, his voice loaded with a hint of foreboding.

He stared Theo down, as if telling him something without saying the words. Theo should have known without Draco having to tell him.

There was an implicit code amongst friends that needed to be followed.

Even though Draco had spent weeks grimacing and groaning about how much he disliked Alena, Theo should have known.

Theo knew. He was just a bloody menace.

Draco officially despised Alena Dumbledore, on principle. But off the record, very deep inside his filthy little stubborn brain, Draco Malfoy had a big fat crush on the headmaster's granddaughter. And Theo was determined to squeeze the vehement truth out of him by pushing him slowly over the edge.

Blaise crossed his legs and watched in amusement.

"Sometimes I think you don't even know me at all, mate. Just look at me," Theo stood up and peeled off his robes. He hung them over his shoulder and placed his hand in the pocket of his trousers. "I'm a catch." He gave them a smoldering look. "She's a catch. We should be caught together."

Draco stared at him vacantly. Then he blinked a couple times, and suddenly there was fire in his eyes.

"You're fucking kidding, right? I mean, come on, Theo. This is a joke, right?" He pulled the white cat off his shoulder and gently placed it on the couch as he stood up.

"I thought you were just fucking around, calling her Hufflepuff Angel, checking her out and shit. But you're actually taking her to the ball? She's a fucking blood-traitor, Theo." His lip quivered as he delivered his speech. "How are you not completely appalled by that?"

"Draco, how can I put it? I don't bloody care if she's a blood-traitor. So she doesn't hate mudbloods with a burning passion of a thousands suns like you do. She's a pureblood witch and I fancy her. Do you have any other more valid reasons why I should not?"

"She may not hate mudbloods, but she hates us. She hates purebloods, Theo, Snape's told me. He said she does not wish to be associated with purebloods," Draco replied angrily.

"I love it when you can cut the tension with a knife. Which appears to be every bloody day in this common room," Blaise remarked.

"Alright, calm down, Draco. Don't get your bloody wand in a knot. She's already been asked. Those two are mad if they think she's going to be waiting around for them to ask," Theo retreated. "But I still fancy her."

Draco loosened his tie and cleared his throat—making room in his airways.

"Who is it then?" He asked. "Who's she going with?" Theo smirked and purposely ignored his question.

"So tell them," Blaise suggested. "Tell them she's already been asked."

Theo let out a maniacal laugh. "I'll wait until someone wins. I'd love to see the look on them."

"Evil bastard," Draco spat, as he glanced over at the chess set, trying to figure out who was winning. "She's got a date already, chaps. Give up the chess set."

Flint and Pucey both snapped out of their game.

"You're kidding. Who?" asked Adrian.

"I don't bloody know. Ask Theo, he got shot down apparently," Draco pointed at Theo with his chin.

"I did not get shot down, I just got bested. I've got to be quicker next time," he replied.

"Bloody hell," Flint turned over the chess set and the pieces went flying.

"That was a fucking slow reaction," Theo said under his breath.

"Everyone knows I was planning on asking her. I even sat at the Hufflepuff table like a bloody dipstick. Who the hell was it?" Flint huffed.

"You can calm your tits, Flint. There's plenty of birds to choose from," replied Theo. "Although none of them would want to go with you, to be frank. There are spells to fix teeth, you know?"

Flint glared at him.

"This is fucking ridiculous. Three Slytherins pining over a sodding blood-traitor Hufflepuff. What a fucking disgrace. I just know old Salazar is rolling in his fucking grave with the amount of time we all waste talking about her in this common room," Draco said as he threw his head back on the chair and stared at the ceiling.

"Someone's been triggered," Blaise muttered.

"Draco, relax. We're not bloody in love with her. She's just a nice thing to look at. She's just a hot topic. You're the only one who won't admit she's fetching," Adrian said.

Draco hesitated and huffed. His eyebrow shot up. "Alright, so she's—"

"How's my favorite group of pretentious bastards doing?" Pansy asked in a singsong. "Oh, and Flint."

She took her seat in a decorous fashion and crossed her legs. Her sleek, French bob was paired with a green beret.

"You were saying, Malfoy?" Flint pressed.

"I was saying—she's nothing more than a fucking treacherous muggle-loving hag. Flint, you would've been a proper date for her," he uttered. "She'd be lucky to go with you. Fucking troll."

"Alright, I'll fuck you up another time, Malfoy," Flint retorted. "I'm too spent tonight." He strode off.

"Jesus Christ," Pansy quirked her brows in amusement. "The level of testosterone in this room is astronomical."

"Who's your date then, Draco?" Blaise asked. "Crabbe or Goyle?"

"She's right here," he gave Pansy a half-smile and wrapped his arm around her. "Right, Pans?"

Pansy let out a patronizing laugh. "Sorry, honey. I've already been asked by a ravishing Durmstrang gentleman. Try Katerina, you know she'll go to mars with you, darling."

"We're not exactly on good terms," he muttered.

"Right. No matter, I'm sure you can get yourself a good-looking witch to accompany you. Perhaps a Beauxbâton," Pansy suggested. "Oh, you'd look so good with Fleur Delacour!"

"Fleur Delacour, Pansy—are you out of your beautiful mind? Draco wouldn't be caught dead with that dirty half-breed," Theo said sarcastically. "Try again, dear. Be sure to only suggest pureblood witches with Death Eater tendencies."

"Oh, come off it, Theo," Pansy rolled her eyes.

Draco stood up abruptly. "Shit, I forgot it's Thursday. I've gotta go."

He picked up the fluffy cat from the sofa and carried it out of the common room with him.


	13. First Fight

✶

_"If you build the guts to do something, anything, then you better save enough to face the consequences."_

Criss Jami

✶

Hermione chewed the inside of her cheek, like she'd been doing almost compulsively for days. Alena imagined the inside of her mouth would be destroyed by now.

"Stop that, Hermione," Alena pointed to her own face and wagged her finger. Her worrisome friend had just finished telling her all about Harry's Triwizard challenge clue, and how far they were from figuring out what he'd do.

"What about Gill—" Alena began to say.

Harry came around the Gryffindor table and slammed a book down on it as he sat, interrupting her.

"Neville's just given me this. Hermione, look." He said sharply. "Hey, Alena."

He gave her a half-smile.

Hermione read the pages intently as Harry watched Alena eat her oatmeal.

"Aren't you going to eat?" She asked, a small smile forming on her face.

"Not hungry."

"Gillyweed, of course! Why didn't _I_ think of that?" Hermione looked at Harry with relief and worry at the same time. "Only problem is... It's not easy to come by."

Harry's eyes twitched as he stared at Hermione with a vacant expression. He removed his glasses and gently placed them on the table, then rubbed his eyes with his knuckles. Alena looked at him with sympathy.

"Gillyweed?" She completed her earlier sentence.

"Yes, have you heard of it? It allows you to—" Hermione began to explain.

"Breathe underwater, yes. I know where we can get some," she said casually.

She looked at both her friends curiously, realizing that they did not yet understand the true extent of her knowledge and abilities. She wasn't the type to exert that sort of thing anyway.

Harry's and Hermione's faces lit up—they looked at each other quickly, then back at Alena with hopeful eyes.

"Really? Where?" Harry asked.

"I grow Gillyweed in my greenhouse—along with all sorts of things."

"Alena! Why hadn't you said anything?" Hermione gasped. "And you have your own greenhouse? Where is it?"

"Well, I was about to... and, shhh—keep it down. It's sort of a secret."

"You're a lifesaver, Lena," Harry sighed. He looked relieved for the first time in weeks.

"I have all sorts of neat things up my sleeve. Maybe next time you all could tell me what the challenge will be so I can _help_..." She suggested, as they laughed awkwardly.

Harry and Hermione both stopped and raised their eyebrows, warning her that someone had appeared behind her.

"Alena, a word," Marcus Flint grunted from behind her. He wanted to know who in their right mind decided to ask her to the ball, knowing he was planning on doing it.

Alena bit her bottom lip, slightly annoyed at his demanding tone.

"Hey, Marcus! What's this about?" She said, tight-lipped and in an overly friendly tone.

"It's important." He pressed. "Come on," he nodded towards the aisle between the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor tables—as if commanding her to get up. Alena furrowed her brows in confusion.

"Uh... we're kind of in the middle of something," Hermione said, sensing Alena's tension.

"Shut it, mudblood—" Marcus spat instantly.

Alena slammed both her hands on the table and stood up abruptly. She blinked several times in a row and Harry swore he saw more and more rage fill her eyes every time. She'd never heard someone use that term so deliberately before. That sort of thing didn't slide at Ilvermorny.

She climbed over the bench and faced Marcus, who had a defiant and smug look on his gruesome face. He was proud of what he had just done, and he liked how riled up he had made the Hufflepuff Angel get.

"Let me make this very clear, Marcus. I have refrained from telling you that I find your advances offensive, irritating, and—listen to this—entirely ineffective, all to avoid embarrassing you in front of your stupid friends." She glanced at the pack of Slytherins observing them. They were gasping and sniggering. Draco was sporting his signature sneer, Adrian had an amused look on his face, and Theo winked and blew a kiss at her. She shook her head at Theo and looked back at Flint.

"For weeks I've allowed you to hound me _,_ but if you think for a second I will let you come into my space and insult my friends—no, this far worse than an insult—this is pure slander," she said in an ever so slightly elevated tone. "I will not allow it, do you understand? Go make a complete arse of yourself elsewhere," she fluttered her fingers, signaling him to make himself sparse. "Go."

Marcus scoffed in disbelief. He was bright red, but still sporting his defiant and smug face. He looked Alena up and down with an arched brow—his desperate attempt at intimidating her and saving face. But it was not looking good for him.

"Derogatory remarks of any sort will _not_ be tolerated," she doubled-down, crossed her arms, and looked directly at Draco Malfoy. She'd been told he was a frequent user of the word _mudblood._

Draco shot up from his seat and gave her a scornful smile. "I don't know about Flint, but I won't have anyone telling _me_ what I can or cannot do," he announced to the crowd of onlookers. "Especially not a foul little treacherous witch. Blood-traitor."

He looked on arrogantly with his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle, proudly at his sides. Blaise and Theo had sat back down as soon as Draco started to speak. Alena had no time to respond as Flint suddenly walked past her in the direction of the doors—bumping into her shoulder maliciously. She stumbled and landed on the bench behind her. Harry shot up from his seat.

George was standing between Flint and the doors when he saw him shove Alena. "Oi, tough guy! Why don't you try shoving me like you did her?" He blocked the aisle.

Fred stood up as well. "Right, you coward!"

Flint stopped in his tracks and turned around slowly, grinning. "Alena, don't you think three boyfriends is a bit excessive?" He pointed at Harry and the twins with his chin. "Sorry, have I upset you _all_? What's one more, really? But don't worry about me, I've suddenly lost interest after realizing how easy—"

George took a few tentative steps in his direction. "Watch your mouth," he warned. Fred jumped over the table to join his brother in the aisle.

"Just let him go, he's not worth it," Alena tried to deescalate the situation.

"We're not gonna let him get away with calling Hermione a mudblood or shoving you around like that," said Fred. Alena had never seen the twins this visibly upset.

Professor Snape walked into the hall and searched for Alena in the crowd. Filch was following closely behind him.

"What is the meaning of this?" He asked. "Get back to your tables, all of you!"

"Watch your back, Flint." George warned again.

"Quiet, you! Ten points from Gryffindor. Go back to your seats. Now." Snape demanded.

"Professor Snape, this is completely unfair—" Harry protested.

"Twenty points."

Anyone who wasn't a Slytherin began to complain.

"He called Hermione a mudblood!"

"Thirty."

"Where do you draw the line? He pushed Alena, too, Professor—"

Snape's eyebrow shot up as he jerked his face around to look at Marcus Flint. Suddenly he was marching up to the wizard, who was leaning against the table in lazy insolence. He slowly straightened up as he realized the anger in Professor Snape's walk.

"Did you put your hands on that girl?" He demanded, as he sent his arm flying backwards to point at Alena.

"Uh... I... well..." he stumbled.

"Uh—I—well?" Snape uttered loudly. "Answer the question, Mr. Flint."

"I may have unintentionally—"

"Don't... lie."

The Slytherins watched in shock as their head of house seemed to contain his urge to rip Marcus Flint's head off.

"The thirty points will be taken from Slytherin," he announced.

Sounds of shock and disbelief erupted in the room. Never had anyone witnessed Severus Snape dock points from his own house.

"Learn from this foolish boy's mistakes. Do not repeat them," Snape cautioned before he slipped out from the hall, his cloak waving behind him.

Fred, George, Alena, Hermione, and Harry all looked at each other as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Their serious faces soon turned into smirks and suppressed smiles. Finally, they burst out in laughter.

"I think he likes you," Ron, who was already sitting at the table, said to Alena.

"Just a bit," she replied. "He's known me since I was a little girl."

"He knows all of us since we were children, too, Lena, but he hates us." Ron remarked. "And I was quite adorable as a child."

"You had your first fight," Harry said to Alena with a smirk.

She laughed nervously. "I just hope I got him off my back for good. I don't think I could've taken a repeat of yesterday at breakfast. I thought the Hufflepuff table was a safe space from Slytherins, but apparently not."

George took a seat next to her. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I'm fine. Thanks for sticking up for us, you're a good friend." She gave George a side hug and held on to him.

"Oi, why does George get all the love? I was ready to make Flint eat slugs." Fred sat on the other side of Alena.

"Oh, come here, Fred," Alena wrapped her other arm around him and squeezed both twins, expecting them to pull away. But they both leaned their heads into her and snuggled on her shoulders. "We're quite lucky, aren't we?" She asked Hermione.

The clever witch chortled. "Yes, of course. But I'm used to being called a mudblood by Slytherins at this point. Please, don't get into trouble on my account."

"Hermione, I could never allow anyone to say something like that to you," Alena reached across the table and briefly placed her hand over Hermione's. "We can't have them thinking it's okay."

"And listen, I know _you two_ are restless, but don't go looking for Flint."

Fred and George snorted. "You've got to be mental if you think we're going to drop it. He's our brand new muse," said Fred.

"Plus, we're good friends with the headmaster's granddaughter so I doubt we will get into too much trouble," remarked George with a simpering smile. "We'll just tell old Dumbledore we were defending his beloved grandchild's honor."

"Forget it, I know better than to try and talk you out of anything," Alena rolled her eyes playfully.

"Alena's like an honorary Gryffindor. She's always at our table, the Fat Lady actually let's her into our common room, and after what I just saw, she apparently has some Gryffindor guts the way she stood up to Flint!" Seamus said as he poked his head into the circle.

Alena's mouth was agape. "I'm not _like_ a Gryffindor, I _am_ a Gryffindor! A very small portion of me, at least. Why do you all think the Fat Lady lets me in?"

"Nepotism?" Fred suggested, making everyone laugh.

"Also, you bring her flowers all the time. I've seen you. Isn't that a form of bribery?" George teased.

✶

Draco watched from the Slytherin table as Alena dragged Flint with barely any expression on her face. She wasn't screaming or waving her arms around. She was just talking. And whatever she was saying was embarrassing the troll out of him.

_He deserves it._

"She's giving him quite the tongue-lashing, isn't she?" Theo remarked as he elbowed Draco's arm.

Draco turned to look at him and grimaced. "That sounds disgusting."

"Oi, I just mean she's giving him a proper tell off. Look at his face," They were all standing and stretching their necks to get a closer look. "I reckon she's finally had enough of him. Took her a while, too. Tried real hard to be nice to him, my angel."

Draco unglued his eyes from Alena and rolled them. "If she's your angel then why are Weasel Dumb and Weasel Dumber her personal body guards?" He sounded upset.

"Derogatory remarks of any sort will _not_ be tolerated," everyone heard Alena say with her gaze fixed on Draco.

"Oh, boy," Theo groaned as he and Blaise sat back down. "Here we go everyone—Draco's little moment to shine," he said under his breath.

Draco delivered his uninspiring line about not allowing anyone to tell him what to do—especially not a treacherous witch—and Theo gasped sarcastically. "Good one, mate. Very original."

They all watched as Flint shoved Alena and almost got his arse handed to him by the Weasley twins if it weren't for Snape's timely arrival.

A sudden burst of rage sparked within Draco when he watched Flint push her down into the bench. She was so small compared to him. Draco's eyes glazed over as he stood there, expressionless, trying to keep himself from jumping over the table and punching Flint in the nose.

But he pictured it.

He imagined himself lunging at the fellow Slytherin and feeling his nose crack under his knuckles. He imagined the blood gushing out of it and covering his crisp white dress shirt.

Thank god Snape had, against all odds, decided to retaliate—even if the consequences extended to the whole house. This meant Draco now had a legitimate excuse to be angry at Marcus Flint. Finally.

✶

He stormed into the Slytherin common room with a clenched jaw and fist, and Crabbe and Goyle at his sides. He found Flint laughing about his ordeal with the Hufflepuff Angel, surrounded by a group of seventh years.

"Way to fuck it up for Slytherin today, Flint," Draco said angrily. "Was it worth it?"

Flint took a few tentative steps towards Draco.

"I was just telling these guys. I wanted a word with Alena, and that insufferable bitch, Granger, had to meddle in shit that's got nothing to do with her. So I called her a mudblood, as one should," he said proudly. "But Hufflepuff Angel did not appreciate that."

"Who cares, Flint? If you wouldn't be fraternizing with fucking blood-traitors, then maybe this wouldn't have happened," Draco spat.

He was taller than Flint, but Flint was bigger. It wasn't about who was taller, or bigger, or even stronger, though. It was about who was angrier.  
And Draco was livid.

A few days prior, Flint stood in the exact spot where he was currently standing, announcing to his harebrained group of friends that he was going to ask Alena Dumbledore to the Yule Ball.

_Fair enough._

" _And then I'm going to fuck her brains out after the ball_ ," he had said casually. His friends laughed.

He said it loud enough that Draco overheard him from across the room. Hearing Flint say those words knocked the air out of him and made him go completely cold. He realized in that moment just how little control he had.

His hate for her was very real, very valid. But it wasn't nearly enough.

He had made a mental note. Marcus Flint was going to get a proper beating at some point or another.

It was the reason why Draco couldn't stop himself from snapping at Flint and calling him a troll the night before, after the Wizards chess match with Adrian.

Flint narrowed his eyes and looked at Draco suspiciously. "What's it to you, anyway? You're a bit too invested in this little treacherous muggle-loving hag, as you called her last night. Don't you think?"

"What are you implying?" Draco questioned.

"I'm implying that you've got a fucking boner for Alena Dumbledore, but you can't do anything about it cause your daddy will get mad. What will he do? Cut you off or just flat out disown you?" He had the most menacing smile drawn across his face.

Draco chewed the inside of his cheek and calmly took a few steps forward.

"What was that?"

"You heard me. I said your daddy will blow a fuse when he finds out you're having wet dreams about a mudblood-lover," Flint uttered.

Draco's clenched fist flew across Flint's face. He wasn't imagining it anymore. He felt Flint's nose cracking beneath his knuckles—blood gushing out and covering his white Oxford shirt.

He didn't stop.

He threw another punch, and another, and another.

Chaos ensued all around, except in Draco's mind. In there, the room was still and everything went quiet—his eyes hyper-focused on his rival's face, his ears only sensitive to the brisk sounds of his fist striking against Flint's skull.

Until someone finally pulled him away.

Flint was unconscious on the ground and the room was scandalized, looking at Draco in shock. He had never been one to engage in physical violence.

"Oh, shit! What happened, mate?" Theo asked as he burst through the crowd. "I missed the whole damn thing."

"That is precisely what I would like to know," Professor Snape appeared behind Draco and pulled him by the collar of his shirt. "We're going to the headmaster's office."


	14. An Honest Conversation

✶

_"Treat your men as you would your own beloved sons. And they will follow you into the deepest valley."_

Sun Tzu

✶

**_TW: This chapter mentions r*pe._ **

Draco sat on the floor inside the alcove of an ample window in a secluded part of the castle, like he had been doing for the past couple of nights—since he was avoiding the Slytherin common room. He charmed the window so that it was stormy, and he entertained himself for a while watching the pseudo-lightning. He had a book with him, but was finding it impossible to concentrate on the words. The white and brown cat found him there, and snuggled up next to the gloomy wizard.

Draco pushed his lips to the side and chewed the inside of his cheek. It felt good not to be completely alone.

His left hand was wrapped in bandages from beating the shit out of Flint. There were nasty bruises on his face—one under his eye, and another near his jaw. Apparently, Marcus had fought back, but Draco just hadn't noticed at the time.

He leaned against the cold, stone wall, and slid his knees up to his chest, his green book caught in between. He unwrapped the bandages from his injured hand and studied the cuts and bruises around his knuckles. As he stretched out his fingers, some of the scabs that had formed tore away, causing rivulets of blood to stream from the lacerations.

He watched as the thick, crimson liquid rolled against his pale skin, leaving a trail of red tears. He allowed the blood to gush down all the way to his rolled up sleeves and taint them with the scarlet evidence of what he had done to Marcus Flint's face.

It had been one of his most humiliating moments having to explain to Snape and Dumbledore why he did what he did. They looked at him with great suspicion and doubt as Draco told them he was just very upset about Flint losing them house points.

" _Draco, Slytherin has lost house points because of you many times. Would you like to tell us the real reason why you've had a sudden outburst of physical violence?_ " Snape had asked him, rather quizzically. " _In all the years that I've known you, I've come to learn that words are your preferred method of violence_."

He had stared back at the Slytherin head of house dolefully, knowing he could not possibly fool him into believing his weak justification.

" _Flint said some rather disturbing things about a girl I—_ " he cleared his throat and straightened up in his seat with uneasiness drawn on his freshly bruised face. " _Just a girl. I don't know what came over me, I just found the way he expressed himself about this girl to be fucked—sorry, messed up—alright?_ "

" _And who is this girl?_ " Dumbledore finally spoke. He'd been observing him quietly since Snape dragged him into his office.

" _I won't say who the girl is, and I also won't repeat the foul things Flint said. So can you just tell me what my punishment is and I'll be on my way._ "

By some miraculous act, Snape and Dumbledore did not pry any further, and let him know they would be sending a letter home and what his detention consisted of. He'd also be suspended from his prefect duties for a couple of weeks.

_I can't believe I'm bleeding for a blood traitor._

Draco turned his focus away from the bloody mess that had become of his left arm, and turned to look at the resting Munchkin cat at his side. He wanted to assume that it was a half-Kneazle, but Kneazles were known for being great at sniffing out shitty people. Draco was a lot of things, but he wasn't oblivious to the fact that he was a shitty person.

His mum owned a beautiful half Persian Longhair, half-Kneazle named Opal. She absolutely adored his mum, but definitely hated his and his dad's guts. It made sense.

He thought about his parents—Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy. He loved them unconditionally and believed them unquestionably. There was nothing in the world more important than family and heritage. The portraits adorning the endless corridors of the Malfoy Manor were a testament to that.

Draco was the perfect son that emerged from the marriage of a son of the highly respectable and predominant Malfoy family with a daughter of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.

He could remember every time his father had stood with him in the Malfoy Manor sitting room, staring at an empty space on the wall as if they were admiring a masterpiece at a museum. He'd point at the empty space and tell Draco the same old story—about how that specific space on the wall was destined to hold the grand portrait of the continuation of the Malfoy pureblood lineage. His father would stress again and again how the biggest duty of a Malfoy heir was to produce more heirs. His father felt that his duty would not be completed until Draco did his part for the family.

And his mother—she would often tell him about the Black family tree tapestry, which was displayed at the abandoned Black ancestral home. She'd always remind him that one day she would take that tapestry and bring it to the manor. There was no reason for it to rot away in that neglected house, which belonged to her blood-traitor cousin, Sirius Black. She didn't believe he'd care if she took it, as he was both imprisoned in Azkaban and removed from the family tree—blasted away for rejecting his own blood. She would tell Draco that the tapestry was anxiously waiting for more worthy and honorable pureblood descendants to make up for all the ones that had been disowned for being squibs or blood-traitors.

It sounded like Draco had no options. But he had two. _Tojours Pur_ or _Sanctimonia Vincet Semper._

He had been taught to value blood purity above all else. Draco had no complaints and no desire to steer away from tradition. At least that's what he would tell himself.

Around fourth year, he'd begun having thoughts that were radical, and that opposed everything his family stood for. He had been doing a fine job at pushing those thoughts out of his brain. He was afraid of those thoughts—he felt like Voldemort himself would come and gather him every time one of those thoughts invaded his brain.

He knew one thing—he wasn't willing to lose his family. He wasn't willing to dishonor his parents.

A certain silver-haired witch, whom he had never spoken to, brought those thoughts to the forefront of his brain once again. He began to wonder what it would be like to side with her. It seemed like it would be warm and obliging. But it was all imaginary.

It was all out of the question.

"Ah, there you are. I've been looking for you everywhere," Theo's voice snapped him out of the warmth of his imagination. "I'm talking to the cat, not you. What's with the bloody hand?"

"Nevermind."

Draco continued petting said cat, absentmindedly. His unruly friend sat on the ground across from him with his back against the wall and took out a box of cigarettes along with his wand from his pockets.

He held his wand out and said " _incendio_ ," which produced a small, blue flame at the tip of the wand like a lighter. He joined it to the end of his cigarette to ignite it, then shook his wand airily to extinguish the flame. He took a fairly large drag of smoke into his mouth then exhaled, creating a cloud of haze around them. Draco didn't bother looking up.

Theo was still in his uniform trousers and shoes, but he was wearing a worn down Twisted Sisters t-shirt. He had his knees bent in front of him and rested both of his forearms over them lazily.

"Do you really fancy her?" Draco finally broke the silence after a long while. "She doesn't seem like your type at all."

Theo flashed a curious smile, unseen by Draco.

"She's beautiful and smart," Theo replied. "And she's patient with me." His voice sounded rehearsed and clinical.

"I didn't know you even talked to her," Draco seemed surprised.

"Yeah, she'll talk to anyone, mate. She really tried being friendly with Flint, but we all know he's a fucking piece of work," Theo let out a restrained laugh. "Anyway, she helped me with that dodgy Arithmancy project we had a few weeks back. She's an angel, I mean it."

"I don't think she takes Arithmancy, Theo," Draco said with narrowed eyes. He wanted Theo to be lying.

"She doesn't. It's funny—she actually hates Arithmancy, but I told her I was having trouble with it and she offered to help. And well, I'm not in the business of refusing private lessons from pretty witches."

Draco grimaced and took out his wand.

"Woah, am I going to end up like Flint?" Theo joked. "You can have her, mate."

" _Aerem venti_ ," Draco cast a spell to clear the air of Theo's dull smoke cloud. "Shut up. Such a shitty habit."

"Tell you a secret?" Theo asked, his face illuminated by the piece of information he was withholding. He thought perhaps this little anecdote would finally be enough to push Draco over the edge into confessing what he really felt about Alena Dumbledore.

Draco nodded, with the white cat now curled up in his arms. He looked defeated for some reason.

"She's a natural legilimens. She was leaning over me, trying to explain something and I was just railing her in my mind, you know? I was just having filthy fucking thoughts, and she turns to look at me and says, 'Theo, is there any way you can quiet down your thoughts and focus on this?' It was so fucking embarrassing, mate. She said she's completely against using legilimency, but that my thoughts were just unusually loud," he chuckled. "At least she was nice about it."

Draco forced an arrogant scoff.

"Shit. That _is_ embarrassing," he muttered. He wondered if Alena had ever peered inside his own mind. It was impossible, but the thought of it made him feel dizzy.

"Alright, Draco, it's time to cut the bullshit. Tell me the real reason you beat the fuck out of Flint, because I find it impossible to believe that it was because of house points. We haven't cared about house points since third year. You're a prefect, and you've never settled things like that. There's something else," Theo said with a quirked brow and his cigarette resting on his lips. "I know you."

"Yeah, Theo," Draco groaned. "Time to cut the bullshit." He threw his book to the ground near Theo and dragged himself and the cat to the edge of the window.

"Just say it. It'll be like you're talking to yourself," Theo assured, reaching for the book. "I'll forget all about it as soon as we leave this dusty alcove."

"You already know, you twisted little git. It's why you've been doing the most, or am I wrong?"

Draco focused on the view from the window with his eyes squinted. He could see the Hufflepuff common room skylight emitting warm light in the distance. Since the common room was underground, the skylight visible through the outside of the castle appeared to be a floor made of glass. It was charmed so that no one could see through it from above, but he had been thinking of ways to remove the charms—even if just from a small section of the glass.

Theo laughed. "So it's true then?"

Draco gulped and clenched his jaw lightly. He realized that he felt trapped. Like he had always been perfectly fine being inside, within the cold, stone walls of the castle. It was comfortable and unchallenging inside. He was preordained to be inside.

And then one day, he'd gotten a glimpse of what lay beyond the barriers, and all he could do was watch—and never feel the beyond, never know it. The problem was that the beyond was beautiful. It was prepossessing and unreasonably consuming.

The only thing that was keeping him safe inside the lines, was the fact that he didn't know what was out there. It looked wonderful by every means, but what if it wasn't?

He didn't _know_ it. And he sure as hell wasn't going to risk finding out. He was going to stick to what he knew.

"I can't. I can't have anything for her. I don't even know her," he said, almost in a whisper.

"Well, I may have been lying about fancying her, but I really do like her as a person and having her as a friend," Theo said sweetly. "The dirty thoughts are real, though."

"You can't tell me she's nice, Theo. You're supposed to tell me that she's a proper hag. Tell me that her breath fucking stinks and that the color of her eyes is ugly. Tell me she's tasteless, or boring, or impolite. Tell me she's uncaring. I don't know, make something up. Anything to get her off my mind."

"I could lie to you, but what's the point? You'll find out one way or another, mate," Theo put out his cigarette by twisting it against the floor next to a pile of ashes. "She smells like berries, and if you haven't seen the color of her eyes, you're bloody missing out."

"You're fucking useless," Draco sighed. "I swear."

"Right. And she's quite posh, interesting, and polite. I find her to be very nurturing, actually."

"Shut up, Theo. Just shut up! I don't want to know any of those things. What I want is to get her out of my head. She's got me watching her eat, and read, and walk, and going to the library every Thursday, and beating up Slytherins. I just want to go back to normal. That's what I really want."

"What are you so afraid of, Draco?"

"I'm afraid she's come to fuck up my life. I'm to maintain my family's blood purity, that is all that matters. I can't get sidetracked with some futile lustful proclivity."

"She's a pureblood," Theo interjected.

"Yeah, one who would have the entirety of the pureblood lineages eradicated if she'd have it her way. How does that not bother you, Theo? I don't understand how you can be so blithe about shit like this," he said scornfully. "Our Death Eater fathers would have her banished without a second thought."

"Well, I won't say a word against your father, but I sure can say a thousand against mine. My Death Eater father is a giant piece of dragon shit. It's different for us, Draco. You grew up looking up to your dad, while I grew up hating mine. Whatever it is he stands for, I will gladly stand against. Hopefully my father goes into fucking cardiac arrest when he finds out my loyalties do not lie with him."

"With us, Theo," Draco turned to glare at his friend. "Your loyalties do not lie with us."

Theo looked down at the book in his hands and stayed quiet for a while. He ran his thumb over the embossed title of the book, written in golden lettering. He rolled his eyes.

_The Magic of War._

He didn't resent Draco for any of it. In fact, he knew that Draco was simply playing a part, even if he wasn't ready to admit it to himself yet.

After a few moments of silence, Theo burst out in a maniacal laugh. It was a laugh born from pity and recognition of pure irony.

"Banished, Draco?" He scoffed.

"What a nice way to put it. When you say she would have pureblood lineages eradicated, all that means is that she thinks it's _fine_ for purebloods to marry non-purebloods. When you say our Death Eater fathers would have her banished, what you really mean to say is that they'd wipe her and everyone like her clean off the face of the fucking earth, without a trace that they were ever here. Using the killing curse is barbaric enough, but sick fuckers like Death Eaters prefer other methods. Perhaps they'd blow her up or set her on fire. Or maybe they'd just use a dagger to her fucking throat, depending on how ruthless they're feeling that day."

Draco's eyes shifted all over Theo's face in shock and horror as Theo stood up over him with a disgusted grimace on his face.

"Oh, but before that, they'd leave her in a fucking dungeon to be tortured and raped over and over again. That's what they did the first time around, with the women they captured. They'd keep the ones they liked for even longer periods of time."

"What the fuck?" Draco blurted. He wasn't clueless to the things that happened in the war. But he had never seen his friend so angry and affected.

"Yeah, what the fuck. That's exactly what I thought when I heard my dad talking about it in his study with a bunch of _former_ Death Eaters." He gestured air quotes aggressively and was panting through his words. "They were shooting the breeze, mate. Talking about it like if it was nothing. I have no idea how the fuck they remember doing all that, seeing as they were all supposed to be heavily imperused."

Draco jumped to his feet and met Theo's eyeline, almost challenging him, but didn't dare to say a word.

"You know, for a moment I thought maybe it would be good for you to let yourself fall in love. Especially with her. Maybe it would help you snap out of this madness, Draco—I just wasn't sure how far gone you were. Trust me, if you asked that girl for help, she would help you. But it's clear to me now that it's not her job nor anyone's job to fix you," Theo was fully unsettled, his jet-black curls nearly covering his eyes, and his nostrils flaring with disappointment and anger.

"So please, do whatever you have to do to get her out of your head. You've got a fucking special talent for getting on people's bad sides—so just get her in a room and open your bloody mouth, mate. Talk shit about Luna or call Granger a mudblood. She'll give you a bollocking that will certainly wound your dainty pureblood ego. Problem solved. You'll hate that bitch for life."

He sent the book flying at the window, its corner smashing through the glass and breaking the enchantment Draco had placed it under. Draco watched as his book fell through the air, the wind flipping through its pages—and then finally landing on the ground several stories down.

When he turned back into the alcove, Theo was gone, and so was the white and brown cat. He was alone. Just him and his dripping blood.


	15. One-Eyed Witch Party

✶

_"Do not assume that someone_   
_else's ego can love you._   
_It cannot._   
_It does not even love the_   
_person it resides in."_

Donna Goddard

✶

Alena walked up the spiral staircase of the Hufflepuff Pit in the middle of the night, slowly and carefully as to make no noise. When she reached the top, Cedric was already waiting for her in the atrium.

"Ready, Dumbledore?" He asked excitedly.

"Can you tell me where it is were going?" She asked, as Cedric cast a rather dodgy disillusionment charm on himself.

Alena wrinkled her brows, trying to figure out what on earth Cedric was up to. She watched as he gradually camouflaged into his surroundings—although the outline of his body was still faintly visible.

"You'll find out soon enough. Want me to charm ya?" His wand was still visible and flourished toward her.

Alena dipped the corners of her mouth in amusement.

"Actually, I think I've got it." She fetched her unique wand out of her tailored skirt pocket and gave it a twirl over her head. A bright silvery light escaped the tip of the wand and wrapped itself around her body like a lasso. She camouflaged into her surroundings just like Cedric, but the outline of her body could not be distinguished at all—she was invisible.

"You bloody show off," Cedric grumbled jokingly as he opened the Hufflepuff common room doors slowly, trying to avoid creaking noises. They stepped into the gloomy and cold corridor, Cedric prompting Alena to follow closely behind him.

"I'd love to, but you're practically invisible and it's dark, genius," she whispered sarcastically.

She suddenly felt a tight grip around the side of her waist. Cedric's thumb landed dangerously close to the underside of her breast, his other four fingers were pressed against her upper back, and his fingertips were digging into the dip of her spine.

"Watch it, Diggory," she hissed. "You nearly touched my—nevermind." She could feel herself blushing.

He chuckled. "That's my bad. Here grab my hand. I'll lead you," he sounded like he had a stupid smile on his face.

He pulled her hand gently all the way to the Turris Magnus tower and up three flights of stairs into the Serpentine corridor. He finally released her hand when they arrived before the one-eyed witch statue.

"What are we doing at the one-eyed witch passage?" Alena questioned with a slightly agitated voice. "You're not thinking of going to Hogsmeade right now—are you mad?"

"You know about the one-eyed witch passage?"

"Of course I know about the one-eyed witch passage. What's going on?"

Cedric groaned as he tapped his wand on the pedestal of the statue.

" _Dissendium_ ," he whispered.

" _Quietus_ ," Alena blurted quickly, before the heavy stone statue slid forward slowly, revealing an opening on the ground with a stairwell leading downward.

"I figured the movement of the statue would be quite noisy," she explained.

"Good thinking."

Passing the threshold into the passage felt like walking under a waterfall that washed away old enchantments, all while dousing her with new ones. Out in the Serpentine corridor, it was dark and still and silent—not a single sign of life or activity. The complete opposite of the sprightliness and color taking place on the inside.

The passage was like a forcefield, radiating electrifying oscillations that fell perfectly on beat with one another. The kaleidoscopic lights combined with swirls of blue smoke and gold glitter made Alena feel like she was walking through an aurora borealis.

She picked up her wand and twirled it around herself again, wordlessly terminating the effects of the disillusionment charm. There was a small, gleeful smile drawn across her face as she gazed at the group of sixth and seventh years crowded together, their bodies swaying and feeding energy to one another in synchronized movement.

"Alena Dumbledore in the flesh!" An animated Weasley twin appeared at her side and placed his arm over her shoulder.

"There she is!" An equally cheerful second Weasley twin came up from behind and wrapped his arm around her as well. "My favorite Dumbledore!"

She deduced that they both were under the influence—they were both holding cups that reeked of alcohol.

"What's in the cup?" She questioned, her face as dreamy as a Lovegood.

"Chocolate licqueur, of course! Want a sip?" One of the twins asked. She could not for the life of her figure out which of them was which in the maelstrom of lights, smoke, and glitter of the passageway.

"Actually, Freddie, I stole Mum's bottle of elderflower wine especially for Alena," the twin to her left said, booping her on the nose. "I thought you'd enjoy it."

"Oh, look at you, committing theft just for me. And from your own mother, no less," she teased, but her voice held a speck of guilt in it.

"It's the highest compliment any Weasley twin could offer," George slurred his words, ever-so-slightly. "You're too fancy for butterbeer."

"I'll fetch a nice goblet of the finest elderflower wine for the lady," Fred announced as he disappeared into the crowd. Alena only saw Hufflepuffs, Ravenclaws, and Gryffindors.

"So what do you think?" George was a bit jumpy.

"We've been practicing our extension charm in here. Decided to throw a little shindig."

"Brilliant. I've got to show you my extension charm one of these days," she said as she leaned into a hug. George towered over her small frame.

"I'm sure it would put me to shame, you impossible Sphinx," he booped her nose again and she swatted his hand away.

"No Slytherins allowed, I gather," Alena remarked, her glistening eyes scanning the room.

"They're always late, those dicey little snakes."

✶

By the time the Slytherins arrived, Ron had attempted a keg stand _and_ snogged Lavender Brown in front of everyone, Fred and George had a wrestling match that turned into a hexing duel, Dean and Seamus had a pitiful, yet hilarious dance battle, Neville had thrown up twice, and Hermione was in tears.

Draco surveyed the room arrogantly, while trying to conceal an unwanted hankering to see a certain Hufflepuff. His eyes fell on the witch he hoped to see, and the room went from moving at full-throttle to moving in a slow-motion breakdown of both cataclysmic and euphoric moments.

Alena was holding a small green-gold tin of Madam Borboleta's sugared butterfly wings in one hand, and a yellow glass chalice in the other as she danced to the beat of the music and flashing lights with her arms lifted over her head. He was unsure whether she was drunk or on a sugar high, or both, but she seemed to be having the time of her life. He envied her for it.

Draco felt his eyes dilate as they thoroughly ogled at her bouncing body; she was in a satin midi skirt, with a long slit down one leg, that delineated the more interesting parts of her figure, and a modest knit jumper. He gulped as he watched Alena hand the tin of candy and yellow chalice to Katerina, and then proceeded to pull the jumper over her head and throw it off to the side.

_Fuck me._

The air was knocked out of his lungs. Blood rushed to his head, as if to ask for permission to travel down to his manhood. He refused, but his blood didn't listen—it still very much did whatever the fuck it wanted and accumulated there.

Her hair was covered in glitter and it reflected every color that the lights flashed, it's waves bounced along with her body. The thin, cotton shirt she was wearing did absolutely nothing to hide the lace bralette worn underneath.

"You're being a fucking creep," Theo's voice caused him to snap out of the trance he had been in. "There are other things to look at, you know?"

He practically blew his cigarette smoke rings into Draco's face.

"Shove off, Theo."

Draco stormed off to the drinks table and picked up a glass snifter, reached into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a flask—he didn't expect a party thrown by the Weasleys would have any decent liquor. He poured his Dragon Barrel Brandy into the snifter and cast a slight warming charm on it with his wand.

The point was to drink and avoid thinking about or looking at Alena Dumbledore. The problem was that the more he drank, the less he cared about where his eyes wandered. His gawking became more and more obvious, until Theo came to snap him back to his senses once again.

"Are you stupid? Brandy?" Theo took the glass away from him and smelled the alcohol. "Brandy raises your body temperature, Draco. What you need is a cold drink that will hopefully make your balls shrivel back up inside you."

"Will you mind your own fucking business for once?" He asked, irritated. "I don't need a cold drink. You getting in the way of my view is enough."

Draco wasn't thinking about blood purity or family or heritage. He wasn't worried about the politics of the Wizarding world. The empty space on the wall of the Malfoy Manor sitting room. The Black family tree tapestry.

_Fuck all of it._

He was intoxicated—not just by the brandy, but by the sugar in front of him. That godforsaken duchesse satin skirt Alena was wearing wasn't doing him any favors. The fabric was so thin and lustrous and lightweight... there was a reason why satin was used for nightgowns and lingerie, he thought. It accentuated the parts of her that he desperately wanted to be allowed in—a sweet dip between her thighs and a heart-shaped bum.

And flesh. She had the soft and tender flesh that he _desired_ to grab on to. His heart had never beat so fast and so severely; it was nearly up his throat and out of his mouth.

He wanted her. Now. He wanted her fast and he wanted her slow.

Just for a moment, any which way. Somehow.

He pulled on the collar of his black turtleneck and looked frantically around the room. Where were all the fucking girls that he _could_ have? He hadn't seen anyone else in that room besides Alena—and the occasional Theo.

Where were Sophia Ward or Faye Dunbar? Tracey Davis? Kylie Turner?

His eyes went back to Katerina Laveau, who was still dancing near Alena. She had walked to the one-eyed witch passage with the group of Slytherins, but he hadn't given a single fuck about her presence until now.

Now, she had a purpose.

They hadn't really spoken in weeks, but she would forgive him soon. He marched up to her and seized the space between them, his arm snaked tightly around her waist and his face tucked into his chest to meet her eye level.

"Come with me, please," he begged, his voice was breathy and lustful. She held her breath and furrowed her brows, innocently.

"I need you, Kat," he panted into her ear.

She dug her teeth into her thin bottom lip and looked at him with dalliance in her brown eyes. Draco grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her deeper within the passageway, all the way to the staircase that lead up to the Honeydukes cellar—away from the girl he actually wanted, and everyone else.

" _Muffliato,"_ Draco cast under his breath. Not that he expected there to be any real sounds of pleasure coming from either of them.

He stood near the steps of the stairwell and eyed Katerina, sweeping her with his gaze.

She was a beautiful girl. That was it, that was all she was.

She eagerly unzipped his pants and pulled down his boxers, his hardened cock emerging and touching his navel. She took it in her hands gently, and looked down at it like a prize. With her thumb, she rubbed the pre-cum that was already waiting for— _her_. Definitely not her, but she didn't know that.

His expression was cold and detached, as he stood over her with arms akimbo. He just wanted the release.

She licked his smooth, swollen pink tip with her warm tongue like a vampire licking a blood-flavoured lollipop. Her wet tongue twirled all around the tip before she finally wrapped her little mouth around it, her saliva dripping down his erection. She slathered it over his throbbing, veiny shaft with her cold hand, while simultaneously sucking him. He pushed her head down and slid himself deeper into her throat, causing her to gag.

Her eyes were bloodshot and teary at this point, looking up at him with desire and vulnerability. Draco grabbed her by the hair and urged her to continue bobbing her head rhythmically.

He didn't feel like he was close. He shut his eyes and imagined an entirely different witch kneeled before him.

Another witch's sweet and sugary tongue enveloping his most sensitive and unguarded part. Another witch's plump, raspberry lips wrapped around—it.

Another witch's beautiful blue or green teary eyes looking into his.

A few grunts and moans escaped his throat.

"Will you swallow for me?" He asked, knowing the answer full well. She would do anything for him.

"Mhm," she whimpered. Draco grimaced as she sucked him with more fervor than before.

He just wanted it to be over.

Finally, his body tensed and jerked, and he exploded directly into her mouth without warning. She smacked her lips as she released him from her mouth—not a single drop of evidence left.

"Better than a scouring charm," he said awkwardly as he tried catching his breath. What was he supposed to say— _Thank you?_

Whatever bit of pleasure he had felt was now gone, and all he was left with was disgust and desolation. He hated Alena Dumbledore for what she was doing to him, albeit unknowingly. That was the very worst part, she had no clue about the fucking shitstorm she had stirred up inside him ever since the day on the train.

He spent so much time being upset because he'd never be able to have her, but who was to say that she would even like him? He had an inkling that even in an alternate universe, where blood-status wasn't an object, she would _still_ be way out of his league.

She didn't even see him. He still had bruises on his face because of her, and she was barely even aware of his existence.

"Fuck off, Laveau," he blurted out. His eyes were glazed over and pink. His breathing had increased again and his heart was beating itself out of his chest as he zipped his trousers back up.

He understood quickly that Katerina, nor any other girl for that matter, could be the solution to his problem. She hadn't helped.

She stared back at him in disbelief, strands of her auburn hair scattered over her face. She definitely looked like she'd been doing filthy things.

" _I said fuck off_ ," he reiterated, his voice shaking with anger. "What? Are you surprised?"

She was speechless. She approached him slowly, and studied his arrogant face. Tears formed in her eyes, and fell slowly from the corners of her eyes. He could see her shaking.

"Something is _wrong_ with you."

"Yeah? And what about you? Always available, always willing—"

Before he could finish his sentence, Katerina slapped him across the face with full force, quickly turning her heel to storm away from him.

Her hand made an imprint on his cheek and left him with a feeling of static. Everything was grey.

He was so miserable. So fucking miserable.

Theo's words resounded in his brain.

" _If you asked that girl for help, she would help you."_

He wondered if it was true.

✶

Alena had been sitting with Adrian Pucey for a while; they were giggling and leaning into each other's shoulders to whisper things in the other's ear. He was a nice boy, at least to her. But he wasn't nearly as interesting as the friends she had made—Cedric, George, even Theo. He was telling her about a nasty fist fight that had occurred in the Slytherin common room days prior, between Marcus Flint and Draco Malfoy. None of it really captured her intrigue, until Adrian mentioned it had happened the same night that Marcus had shoved her in the Great Hall.

Her eyes narrowed almost instinctively, as she tried to understand why these two individuals would fight, and if it could possibly have anything to do with her.

Adrian's voice became a muffled, secondary sound in Alena's ears. She turned around discreetly, trying to find a boy with bright platinum hair, and when she did, she spotted the bruises on Draco's face. They were still purple, but the edges were starting to turn a greenish, yellowish color.

Draco felt her gaze on him almost instantly, and shifted his eyes to meet hers. He caught her looking at him with warm and caring eyes before she turned away hastily, her silver locks lingering in the air for a few seconds behind her.

Even though they locked eyes for only a moment, she felt a piercing, stinging icicle of frigidity stab her right through her chest. Then the feeling dragged itself down to her stomach, scraping her heart and intestines along the way.

Accumency. It wouldn't leave her alone, even when she was drunk.

The icicle which had impaled her began to melt after a while, flooding her organs with what felt like lukewarm water. She had a sullen look on her face as she tried to figure out where the warmth was coming from. It wasn't comforting, as it wasn't nearly warm enough. After minutes of her best discernment, she decided it felt like resistance and uncertainty.

In other words, whatever Draco was emitting was pure pandemonium. Her stomach turned.


	16. Not Even Theo Nott

✶

_"I got you to look after me,_   
_and you got me to look after you."_

John Steinbeck

✶

Alena and George walked together towards the library for their weekly Thursday night study date. He had admitted to her once that he never made any real time for perusal, so she'd been dragging him to the library every Thursday against his will.

"Hello, Madam Pince," Alena greeted the librarian sweetly. "You look lovely today."

"Hello, Alena. Thank you, my dear," Madam Pince replied, cracking a smile that had evidently not been drawn on her face for a long while.

"Madam Pince!" George said loudly, approaching the librarian's tall desk and leaning against it.

"Shh! Keep your voice down," she replied in a hoarse whisper. The Weasley twins were infamous for having overdue books, and for once having returned a book with a stain that hadn't been there before. "I'll be watching you like a hawk, Weasley. No funny business in my library."

"You discriminate against _me_ when it is in fact my twin brother who you truly despise, Madam Pince," George explained facetiously. "You know, he's the one who got strawberry jam between the pages of that book about dragons."

"Well, your brother may be a terror, but _you_ are a menace. Alena, darling, please make sure he treats my books well," she said pleadingly.

"I promise," Alena assured her with a wink.

"Shall we promenade?" The tall, red-haired wizard asked in jest, holding out his arm for Alena to hold.

She hooked her arm around his, and together they strolled out of the halls of the antechamber into the main mall of the library.

"You should really keep her on your good side, George," Alena suggested. "It's hard enough to find what you're looking for in this labyrinth of a library."

"It's a little too late for me," he chuckled. "Plus, you're quite literally the only person on her good side in this entire school. Not even Hermione, who lives here, has managed that."

She dipped the corners of her mouth blithely and adjusted her velvet choker necklace, which had a small golden pendant attached. A dainty little half-moon, for Luna.

"Anyway, tell me. Who's the luckiest guy in Hogwarts?" George queried.

"You, of course," she quipped. "You've got me wrapped around your arm, haven't you?"

"I _mean_ , who's the lucky guy that'll be taking you to the Yule Ball?"

"No one, George," she replied sharply. "No one's had the bloody courage to ask."

"No one? Not even Theo Nott?"

Alena finally released her grip from his arm as they arrived to the herbology section—her favorite little section, right by a great stain-glassed window.

"Theo Nott? Definitely not Theo Nott," she tilted her head and crinkled her nose in confusion. Her hair was pinned back, with only a few stray silver waves framing her face, so her perplexed expression was even more discernible.

"That's curious," he said, sounding like he was thinking out loud. "That conniving little snake's told everyone he asked you weeks ago, but that you shut him down because you already had a date."

Alena placed her hands on her hips with her elbows bowed outward and laughed boisterously. "He lied," she said, her chin up in the air as she scanned a higher shelf of books with narrowed eyes. "Pity. If he would've asked, I probably would've said yes."

She summoned a nearby sliding ladder and climbed a few steps, keeping her balance by grabbing onto the wooden side rail and George's shoulder.

"Alright, that's it—you and I are going together. I've given everyone else a fair chance to ask," he asserted. "They've had weeks, and I'm not about to let my poor little Hufflepuff friend go to the ball without a proper date."

Alena inclined a few inches towards George, towering over him. "Aren't you going with Angelina Johnson? I saw you asking her from across the room... with hand gestures."

"Oh, you traitorous woman. Now you _have_ to go with me. You owe me," he grimaced and shook his head disappointedly.

Alena hung her head back and looked up at the ceiling. "Fred, I knew it was Fred," she muttered to herself.

"Right. So are we going or what?" He asked from beneath her.

"Yes, of course," she replied, fingering the spines of several leathery books. "As soon as you ask me properly. I know my worth, George Weasley."

George smiled and shook his head faintly, his arms crossed as he leaned onto the shelf next to Alena's ladder.

"Look what the cat dragged in. I'm telling you, every sodding Thursday without fail," George's eyes trailed Draco Malfoy, who had come into their field of vision and sat alone at an empty desk nearby.

"And I'm telling _you,_ he's never spoken a word to me. You're reading too much into it. He's just a studious guy. He's not in the top ten of students for nothing."

"I'm a man, Alena. I can tell the pervert wants you in about thirty different languages."

"Dead or alive?" She joked, pulling out a book and cracking it open. She went up a few more steps on the ladder, her thighs now at eye-level with George. He snaked his arms around both her legs and leaned his face into her baby blue, high-waisted skirt.

"I'm just here for support."

"I'm sure you are, George Weasley," she said, handing him a heavy book that nearly made her topple over.

"See, you'd be on the ground with a broken arm if I weren't here," he retorted, his grip now tighter around her thighs.

"I'm a witch, dear, and a rather proficient one. I think I would be just fine."

"Oh, really?" He pulled her by the waist and carried her over his shoulder, her bum practically in the air. He was _mindful_ enough to place his hand at the end of her skirt to keep her bits unseen.

"Hey! Put me down you bloody tosser! I don't want to get kicked out by Madam Pince!"

Alena was bursting in laughter while trying to wiggle out of his grip, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. She caught a glimpse of Draco, and his cold gaze was already fixed on her, his eyes dark and possessive.

George finally set her down. "Did you see? I told you," he quirked his brow in the direction of Draco. "He's obsessed. Hermione's noticed it, too."

"I've told her already, he watches me because he hates my Dumbledore guts," she said, smoothing down her skirt and adjusting her form-fitting blouse. " _His_ father and _my_ grandfather have had several run-ins over the years."

"Have you ever looked at him to find he wasn't already looking at you?"

"Yes, George," she rolled her eyes and walked around him back into the aisle. "Once."

"You don't find that even a little unsettling?" He followed behind her and faced her again, crouching down so that their faces were closer together.

"Hmm," her eyes shifted behind George. "He's not the only one looking." Her eyebrow quirked playfully.

George turned his head and found Adrian Pucey, who was in the aisle across from them, watching her—completely unabashed.

"Oi!" George grinned and waved at Adrian, then quickly whipped his hand around and give him the bird as soon as Adrian waved back. Then, he picked up his other hand and drew his middle finger at Draco as well, for good measure. George's stupid grin turned into a cocky smirk as he held out both his hands in the air and continued to flip off the two Slytherins, who were across the room from one another, his thumbs sticking out aggressively.

Alena groaned quietly and slithered around him. "Dear god, it's me again," she muttered to herself.

"It's very fucking disturbing to stare at girls!" George said in a half-shout, lowering his hands.

"Shh! Honestly, this is a library!" Someone hushed from the next aisle over.

The witch and wizard peered over and saw a very flustered Hermione, with her nose inside a giant book.

"Honestly, relax, Granger. It's just us. Guess what? Alena and I are going to the Yule Ball together." They both strolled into the aisle to join her.

"But I thought you were going with Angelina Johnson? Poor girl—you better not leave her hanging," Hermione threatened, wagging her finger in his face.

"You too?" He said bitterly, handing Alena the book she had given him earlier.

Madam Pince appeared at the end of the aisle looking extremely disgruntled and George knew it was his cue to leave the library.

"Not another word from you, Weasley," Madam Pince warned, as she escorted him away.

"Wrong twin, Hermione," Alena informed her, cupping her mouth as she suppressed a laugh.

"I don't even know which twin that was to begin with. I'm not used to seeing them apart. It doesn't feel right." They both sniggered.

Adrian Pucey appeared once again, across the aisle from the two witches. Hermione immediately grimaced and rolled her eyes.

"Woah, what've you got against Pucey?"

"He's a Slytherin," Hermione reproached. They're vile, all of them."

"He's nice to me, and considering my horrible reputation as a proud _blood-traitor,_ I'm assuming he isn't a devout purist like most Slytherins. Has he ever done anything to you?" She asked, genuinely concerned.

" _Blood-traitor_ is not the same as _mudblood,_ is it?"

"Hermione, I assure you that if I'd caught even the slightest bit of wind that he's a pureblood lunatic, I would not be his friend," Alena said softly. Her words stung Alena directly in the chest.

A tight-lipped Hermione gave her an unconvinced look that made Alena's stomach churn slightly.

"And if he ever does—"

She was interrupted by the Slytherin in question, who walked by their aisle, backtracked, and finally settled himself at the end of the bookshelf—leaning against it pompously. The dirty blonde wizard gave the two witches a nod of acknowledgment, to which Hermione split away, all the way to the opposite end of the aisle, opening her giant book again. She had earmarked a page.

 _Madam Pince would blow a gasket,_ Alena thought to herself, her eyes squinted as she observed her friend. She would've never expected Hermione Granger to do such a sacrilegious thing. Maybe she forgot to bring a bookmark? She could've just conjured one. A scrap of parchment could've done the job just as well. A gum wrapper. Hall pass. Class schedule.

"I forgot to mention it at the one-eyed witch passage the other night, but I heard you're going to the ball with some tosser," Adrian finally spoke, pulling her out of her aimless thoughts. "Is it true?"

"Hmm. Well if a Slytherin's told you, then it must be true," she answered sarcastically. "Apparently Theo Nott also asked me, but I don't recall him ever doing so. Curious rumours going around," Alena quirked a brow.

His gaze intensified. "What do you mean? Theo never asked you?"

"Not at all," she said casually, playing with the silver coils around her face. "Theo's got a strange sense of humour."

"Bloody hell. Please tell me no one's asked you yet," he said with a pleading face. Alena realized that he somehow reminded her of Luna. He had a calming presence about him.

"Sorry," she smiled. "George asked me just a few moments ago, and I said yes."

He groaned and crossed his arms. "Oh, come on. Isn't he just your friend? Couldn't you just... tell him you changed your mind?"

"I could," she responded assertively. "Except I haven't changed my mind."

The placid Slytherin raked his fingers through his middle part—his straight, fine hair flopping over to one side. His kind hazel eyes shifted from Alena's face, down to the drawstrings of her blouse, and finally to her short baby blue skirt.

"Fuck," he sighed. "Sometimes I seriously hate Slytherins."

"Me too, but why?" She indulged him.

"Because of people like Nott and Malfoy. They told me and several others over Wizards chess that you had a date to the ball already. Malfoy also said you'd be lucky to be asked by Marcus Flint, as he's the only troll fitting to be your date. A load of rubbish, if you ask me." He curled his lip.

She squinted her eyes. "Malfoy said that? I don't even know him."

"Among other things. Not very good things."

She sensed that he expected her to react to  
Draco's supposed comments. Shudder, gasp, maybe cry? At best, he wanted her to be intrigued and inquire more about the happenings and conversations of the Slytherin common room. It was a bad move.

She was bored. There wasn't a single fiber in her being that cared about what horrible things Draco had to say about her. She had already shaken any shred of belief that the bruises on his face had anything to do with her.

Even though it felt too much like denial from her part. She simply did not want to carry any guilt about Marcus Flint's trip to the infirmary. She already had to bear Draco's disturbing presence—not that she had a choice in the matter.

She turned to look at Hermione, who was sitting on the ground tailor-style with her book. Alena wondered what interesting world Hermione was currently visiting. Maybe she was reading a historical document, or perhaps a bit of informational text. The biography of the first female minister for magic. All the uses for shrivelfig. Spells having to do with fire. Paracelsianism. It all seemed more riveting than whatever problems occurred in the Slytherin common room—especially over a girl any of them barely knew.

She didn't even bother rolling her eyes. "We play Exploding Snap in the Hufflepuff common room. It's fun, you all should try it," she replied coldly.

"You know, the way he talks about you, you'd think you killed his cat or something," he instigated. It bothered her how clueless he was to her obvious disinterest in the matter.

Alena grabbed Hermione's book bag from the floor and hung it over her shoulder as she walked over to the edge of the aisle, closer to Adrian. "He doesn't seem like a cat person to me."

"You sure you haven't done anything to him?"

She took a red apple out from the outer pocket of Hermione's bag and lifted the hem of her skirt a tad to wipe the apple, before taking a presumptuous bite from it.

She knew Draco was watching.

A snap of juice erupted from her bite. A coat of sweet nectar enveloped her lips. Her tongue swept her lips slowly and collected the juice.

She looked into Adrian's eyes as she took another bite of her apple. They were fixed on her mouth—and it appeared that his own went dry as Alena noticed he gulped and cleared his throat a few times.

"Positive," she replied, with a Mona Lisa smile.

She ran her finger slowly over his cheek before leaving him without another word. She was irritated at his attempt to either egg her on, or make her feel bad about Draco. Perhaps she was a bit predisposed after the conversation she had with Hermione.

Hermione followed swiftly behind her as they left the library. Alena didn't bother looking at the platinum-haired Slytherin at all as they walked by him.

"Are we calling it a night?" Hermione asked, sensing Alena's change in temper.

"I'm coming to the Gryffindor common room with you to make sure George was serious about taking me to the ball."

"He sounded quite serious, Lena."

"Well, it's like you said once, he's one-half of our very own clown wizard duo. I've got to double check it's not a funny prank of some sort," she replied, still carrying Hermione's bag and eating her apple. "Oh, and I owe you an apple."

"I had gotten it for you," replied Hermione, hooking her arm around Alena's arm as they walked through the corridors.

They entered the Gryffindor common room, the Fat Lady graciously allowing them in. Fred and George were near a fireplace, of course, messing around with some hexes and charms.

"Wrong common room, badger!" teased Fred.

"That's Madam Hatstall to you, dear. Show some respect," she replied.

"Ah, Fred, I forgot to tell you Madam Hatstall's my date to the Yule Ball," George casually mentioned. "Riiiiight?" He winked at Alena.

"Didn't you ask Angelina Johnson?" Fred asked George.

Alena's jaw dropped as she gasped. "It _was_ you!"

The red-headed twins burst out in laughter. "No, but you really are bad at telling us apart," George quipped.

"Funny," she took him by the wrist and pulled him aside. "Do you really want to go together or is it another one of your jokes?"

"No, I actually want to go. Thought that was obvious by my announcing it to everyone..."

"Brilliant," she smiled with raised brows. "Now, ask me properly."

"Heavens," he cleared this throat and took her hands. "Alena—what was your middle name again?"

"Harlowe."

"Alena Harlowe Dumbledore, will you—"

"—Lovegood. You forgot Lovegood."

"Right, right. Alena Harlowe Dumbledore Lovegood," he stopped and pretended to catch his breath. "Will you do me the great honor of allowing me to escort you to the Great Hall for the Grand Yule Ball in honor of the four Triwizard Champions—Harry Potter, Cedric Diggor—"

"Okay, okay, yes. I'll go with you. But you can't back out now," she warned as she pointed her finger at his face.

He began humming and dancing circles around her with a smile plastered on his face. "Why would I back out? I'm not a bloody idiot. And be prepared for the news to break out tomorrow. I predict many girls will be utterly heartbroken and will want your head on a stick."

"We'll coordinate outfits. You'll meet me outside the Hufflepuff common room. And we'll dance the night away." She said, reaching out for his hands and joining him in his dance.

"Merlin, woman, you needn't plan our entire lives together."  
  
  



	17. The Lavatory Encounter

✶

_"Dust in the wind_  
_All they are is dust in the wind"_

Kansas

✶

Alena loved the winter. She loved it in a way that felt forbidden. There were many things about the winter that genuinely made her heart flutter, but there was always something there—restraining her from loving it unreservedly. There was something about waking up to frosty windows and completely white, cloudless skies. It was as if instead of taking in the sun, one was taking in the wistful nostalgia which filled the air.

Every year, she wished the warmth of Christmas would be enough to counterbalance the frigidity of the winter. The smell of hot chocolate, candy canes, and pine evergreen. The radiance of twinkling lights, crystal ornaments, and glazing snowflakes. The notes of Yuletide carols, jingle bells, and festive laughter.

They were all wonderful distractions, for the most part. Other times they just made it all worse. Those things just magnified the one thing she wished she could forget—the fact that she would never again spend Christmas with Mum and Dad. Her mind would escape her realm of control, and go to the future—Christmas morning with her future husband and children. Mum and Dad painfully absent. It made her feel hollow.

_If I could at least have them for Christmas... somehow. One last time._

She tried her best not to allow herself to fall down that slippery slope of sadness all winter—pretty much every day that there were blankets of powdery snow covering the ground. But it was difficult. Seas of bright snow, as far as the eye could see, covered the ground on the night her parents were murdered.

That night, when all was said and done, and she sat terror-stricken on the cold floor of their snug living room—their still, lifeless bodies and a strange, vibrant bird were her only company. All that illuminated the dead room were the lights from the Christmas tree they had set up together as a family. She sat there stiffly, waiting for nothing, until she couldn't bear to be within the same four walls as the corpses of the two people she loved more than anything in the world. She stood numbly and slowly walked out of the house, her home, for the very last time—into the never-ending mounds of perfect snow, with the fiery red bird following closely behind her.

She had been a child within the safety of her steadfast home. Passing the threshold into the bitter cold, she no longer felt like one.

Alena had encountered three strangers on that winter night. First, the disturbed and evil individual who broke into her life and stole absolutely everything from her. Then, a heroic phoenix who appeared by no other explanation or means than pure magic and duty. Even then, she sensed the marvelous bird's loyalty to her. He felt like a familiar.

And lastly, an old, magical man she seemed to recognize—with a long, Merlinesque beard and beautiful, ornate wizard's robes.

Dumbledore. From the chocolate frog cards.

She would have been afraid, but she saw the kindness in his eyes. And just like with the phoenix that rescued her, she felt his immediate loyalty to her. He felt like family.

" _Well done, Fawkes. I'll take it from here,_ " he had said to the red and gold phoenix. He sat next to Alena in the snow without a word. She just remembered feeling warmth surrounding her, so they were able to sit in the pristine snow for much longer. Fawkes took flight and disappeared into the dark night sky.

" _Do you know who I am?_ " Dumbledore had finally asked, after what felt like an eternity of silence.

" _Dumbledore?_ " She replied, her voice shaking lightly.

" _Yes, I'm the owner of Fawkes, the phoenix who came to help you,_ " he explained. " _You know, a phoenix will come to any Dumbledore in need._ "

It felt like within a blink of an eye, she had gone from being Alena Harlowe to being Alena Dumbledore. Like everything she had lived before that night had been nothing but a beautiful, hazy fever dream—and her life was beginning for the very first time.

She had been set on fire and burned on that night. Her grandfather collected the ashes, but she wasn't reborn all at once. Parts of her were still ash, waiting to resurrect. Other parts had been fossilized—forever fixed and rigid within her bones.

She _had_ loved the winter. Now, she forced herself to love it. The witch who murdered her parents had taken so much from her. She couldn't let her have the winter.

✶

The day of the Yule Ball finally arrived, and an unusually anxious George Weasley waited as patiently as he could outside the Hufflepuff common room, leaning against the stone wall. He glanced compulsively at the nook where the honey-colored wood doors hid, watching as enthusiastic Hufflepuffs emerged in their formal robes with glittering smiles.

He was eager, knowing full well that his date that evening was one of the loveliest and most coveted witches Hogwarts had seen since Blaise Zabini's famously beautiful mother had graced its halls. George and his twin brother were already known for parading around with a reasonable sense of grandiosity, so taking a girl as stunning as Alena Dumbledore to the ball had him feeling a bit more pretentious than usual.

The anticipated witch emerged from the Hufflepuff nook, triggering George to jump off the wall abruptly and nearly choke on his own saliva. Her beauty stunned him more than if she'd pointed her wand at him and said _stupefy._

Alena reached for his hand in a dainty and feminine mien, and he immediately gave her a spin—like second nature. The lightweight and sparkly fabric of her gown danced in the air like a flower blooming in the spring as she twirled elegantly.

"So... what do you think, Weasley?"

He was rendered speechless, but the glint in his eyes spoke for itself.

Some of the redness from his hair appeared on his cheeks, and he cleared his throat with a harsh cough.

"Merlin's—" he croaked, clearing his throat again. "Merlin's fucking beard, woman."

She burst in laughter and posed in front of him, with one arm bent over her hip, and the other arm resting in front of her, holding a small, sophisticated clutch purse lined with pearls. She shifted her shoulder smoothly and leaned her chin on it coaxingly.

"You look... ridiculous," he chuckled.

"Thanks," she said, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms over her chest.

"Ridiculously beautiful, darling," he crossed his arms as well, but one of them rose up to his face as he stroked his chin. "You know how much I appreciate ridiculous things."

Her gown was a dusty rose color, with dainty, sheer sleeves lazily draped halfway around her arms. The corseted bodice was skin-tight, hugging her figure at the top, and cinching her waist. The delicate chiffon skirt flowed gently down the rest of her body, like a smooth waterfall which connected seamlessly to the ground below her feet. Bouncy waves of silver and glittering hair cascaded down her exposed back, decorated with small crystals that appeared to be floating on her sterling strands of hair. Rose-gold shimmer was painted on her eyelids along with a soft, mauve color on her bee-stung and inviting lips.

" _You_ look rather ridiculous yourself, Weasley," she smiled and held up a finger. "Oh, hold on one second." Alena opened the clasp of her pearl-encrusted clutch and took out a tiny Polaroid camera, holding it in the palm of her hand like if it were a little bug.

" _Engorgio_ ," she asserted. The camera grew to its original size. "I'm a simple girl—the shrinking and growing charms are some of my favorites."

"Why not just use an extension charm?"

"Oh, I do. I'll show you what I've done with my extension charm one of these days. But I think tiny little things are adorable, so the shrinking charm is my go-to. Stand still, dear, and smile."

George did as she said and she snapped a photo of him. "Now do me," she handed him the camera after taking the picture from the camera's slot.

"A muggle camera?" He muttered as he took her picture. "You're quite bizarre, Alena, I swear."

She grooved her eyebrows together and looked at him as if calling her _bizarre_ was a much better compliment than calling her _beautiful._

"Aww, George. Thank you, so are you," she said in a sing-song, tousling his bright red hair.

"Where'd you even get this?"

"Well, it's a camera, George, not crack cocaine. I bought it at a store, obviously," she giggled. "Not many people know this, but I basically have a separate identity as a muggle. I make chocolate chip pancakes from scratch for dinner and watch my favorite American sitcom on TV every Thursday night."

"Is that before or after you drag me to the library?" He scratched his head, wondering what crack cocaine was.

"After. Here, now together," wrapping her arm around him and holding out the camera in front of them, Alena pressed the camera's button and the flash went off, followed by a whirring sound and a click, indicating that the picture had been released.

"Look, George—look how handsome you look here," she showed him the first picture she took of him, which had already developed. "It's just like magic, see?"

"Still photographs make me kind of uncomfortable," he responded, jokingly. "Is there any way we can make them move?"

" _Reducio_ ," Alena shrunk the camera again and placed it carefully back into her purse. "Obviously there's a potion to make them move. But I like them the way they are."

"You'd get along so well with Dad. He lives for this strange muggle stuff."

She hooked her arm around his and they made their way to the Great Hall, walking closely together. When they arrived to the entryway, George froze and pulled Alena off to the side.

"I can't do this, I feel like an utter toad next to you. Will you consider toning it down a bit?" He said dramatically, gesturing at Alena's face and body. She knew him well enough to know he was full of rubbish. "A jinx to make you a just a tiny little bit _ugly_?" He began taking his wand out of his pocket.

"Oh, shut up, George," she pushed his wand back into his pocket. "You knew exactly what you signed up for."

"Fine, have it your way. But just know that this is absolutely embarrassing for me. I'm being shown up by my own date."

"Did you ever think I wouldn't?"

"Well I never thought you'd take it this far!" He joked, as Alena pulled him through the magniloquent doors into the Great Hall.

They were in stitches as they navigated through the transformed hall—-it was nothing unusual to find Alena Dumbledore and George Weasley crying of laughter in each other's company. They both felt the stares and whispers erupt around them as they made their way through the crowd to find their seats at Fred and Angelina's table, but neither of them cared. They were used to it, although for different reasons.

Draco stood nearby with his date, a gorgeous Beauxbâtons girl. Alena noticed him from the corner of her eye, and for the first time, she experienced real and unprovoked curiosity for him. She indulged herself and looked directly at him, first examining his face for any remnants of bruising. The contusions were nearly gone, and only a very slight discoloration was left on his skin. She had seen Draco Malfoy in a suit several times before, but that night, in his dress robes... she had to admit he looked... _so handsome._

The night progressed wonderfully; they had a delectable dinner and laughed at Fred and George's antics so much that Alena had a sore stomach. They watched the Triwizard Champions and their companions open the dance floor with the Champions Waltz, some more awkwardly than others. Alena was caught off guard when her grandfather appeared before her with an outstretched hand, asking her to be his partner in joining the champions. She obliged happily, knowing that those moments with him would become cherished memories to store away and review endlessly using a pensieve whenever she missed him.

Before she knew it, she had been on the dance floor for what felt like ages—jumping and dancing senselessly to the music of the The Weird Sisters with George and everyone else. The Weasley twins had, of course, spiked the punch with red currant rum and Pinnock's gigglewater, an American alcoholic drink that had somehow made it to Hogwarts and they'd stolen from Filch's office.

Alena was buzzed and dancing unrestrictedly; it felt like she was at the one eyed-witch passage again, all she was missing was a tin of sugared butterfly wings. Until suddenly, she became painfully aware of her surroundings. She was thunderstruck by the winter wonderland that had become of the Great Hall. It brought memories of a certain winter night to the forefront of her brain.

Whenever she had a particularly difficult day during the winter, she found it comforting to know that she could escape the snow by staying indoors and bewitching some windows along the way until she was ready to see it again. There in the ballroom, the winter was inside the castle with her. It was everywhere she looked—even above her, the Enchanted Ceiling was mimicking the snowfall occurring outside.

Her breath hitched as a feeling of ambush overcame her. She was trapped by the ice sculptures and the granular snow adorning the tables and walls. She stood catatonically, looking at them; her heart rate and breathing rate increasing gradually.

She needed to escape the winter, just for brief moment. She would be alright, but she needed a little moment away from it all.

"Are you alright?" asked George, reaching his hand to her cheek and touching it gently with the back of his palm. "You look pallid all of the sudden."

She blinked the apprehensive expression out of her face and gave him a wan smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Yes. Yes, I'm fine," she replied. "I just need to powder my nose. I'll be in the loo."

"I'll get you some water," George replied, concern drawn on his face.

The slightly disheveled witch walked into the girls' lavatory, the classy sounds of her high-heeled footsteps echoing throughout the room as she walked directly to one of the sinks. Her hair was a bit untidy from all the jumping and dancing and her make up needed minor retouching.

She looked at herself in the mirror and allowed a single tear to escape her eyes as she shut them tightly.

" _Excessu,"_ she whispered shakily. It was a spell invented by Snape to sober up the mind. After a few seconds, the feeling of buzzing Wrackspurts left her brain and she could see a lot more clearly. She closed her eyes again and began doing deep breathing exercises. She inhaled slowly through her nose, then exhaled deeply through her mouth—blowing air out through her pursed lips and listening to the "whooshing" sound of her breath. Another tear rolled down her cheek as she contemplated using the vial of Draught of Peace sitting in her purse.

She decided against it and continued breathing steadily. Straightening her posture, she wiped away any evidence of tears and patted a bit of powder on her nose and cheeks, then began fixing her hair crystals and raking through a few of her curls with her fingers. She was in the middle of reapplying her lipstick when she heard the door of the lavatory creak open.

She felt him even before she saw his reflection in the mirror. The same odd feeling she had felt many times before during class with Draco, revisited her in that bathroom—she'd felt it so many times in varying degrees that it had now become... _familiar_.

There was no way that he would have accidentally entered the girls' lavatory, unless he had taken too much of the spiked punch. He looked like he knew where he was and like he expected her to be there.

Draco rested his arm against the wall, as if waiting for Alena's acknowledgement.

Nothing.

He then walked up to the sink right next to hers, even though there were dozens, and began washing his hands. She acted as though he was not there at all and continued to fiddle with her hair and make up and adjusting her dress.

"Do you _ever_ react to anything?" He finally broke the silence with an arrogant scoff.

Draco Malfoy had been the first person Alena encountered at Hogwarts, and this was the very first time he had talked to her directly. "I mean do you ever notice other people—besides yourself?"

She turned her face slowly toward him and blinked her eyes a few times.

"Yes, all the time," she replied, with a small and amused smile painted on her face. The question was extremely silly to her. He knew the answer, since he watched her intently every single day. "When they're interesting enough."

His lip curled to one side, and his eyes shifted slowly from the hem of her long dress all the way up to her eyes again. She had to be insane not to find him interesting.

"You're insane. You know that?" He said smugly, his hand propped inside the pocket of his trousers.

"Yes, _I'm_... the insane one," she replied after a few moments.

She'd been in the same room as Draco Malfoy countless times before, but never had they been as close and alone as they were now. She felt the space between them was too small, so she moved back to the next sink over.

"Aren't you related to that Lovegood girl? What is it... Loony?"

Her eyebrow shot up as she parted her lips.

"Luna," she gulped.

Draco knew he had struck a nerve. She knew it was what he wanted.

"Yes, we're related. I am Alena Dumbledore Lovegood, after all."

 _Oh, god._ She despised it when people made fun of Luna. It was taking everything within her to keep her fist out of his face and making old bruises resurface.

"No wonder at all." He muttered under his breath, raising both eyebrows, and turning to look at himself in the mirror.

Alena paused for a moment and smiled coyly, knowing there was something wildly ironic about his remarks—something that was going to make him regret mentioning her cousin at all.

She took a deep breath, preparing herself to utter her repulsive name.

"Are you not related to _Bellatrix Lestrange_?" She asked, mockingly.

His pale face was suddenly pink.

"Yes," he croaked.

Sure, Bellatrix Lestrange was from the "Noble" House of Black, which actually meant something to blood-purists and elitists like Draco. But absolutely no one on God's green earth could argue that Bellatrix Lestrange—née Black—wasn't the most unhinged and sadistic witch alive. She was the embodiment of pure madness.

"And Sirius Black?"

He flinched.

She knew about Sirius Black, who definitely was not mad—just framed. But he had been depicted as evil and demented for so long, and she knew Draco must have been taught to be ashamed of him, albeit for very different reasons.

"Sirius Black was disowned. He could be Sirius Blue for all anybody cares."

"Yet his blood still courses through your veins, doesn't it? Aren't you scared?" She asked in a patronizing tone. "You know... that you'll end up like them?"

She wasn't usually so cutthroat, but he had something to say about Luna. This was the hill that he chose to die on.

"You must be very proud. I've read some _wonderful_ stories," she continued. "On the Daily Prophet."

He was murdering her the muggle way in his head—no legilimency, accumency, or any other sort of magic was needed to figure that out. The expression on his face was more than enough.

She swept a supercilious gaze on him from head to toe, with the intention of making him feel even more self-conscious than he was already feeling. She narrowed her eyes and looked inside his.

"Stop that," he finally managed to say, after clearing his throat. He was shifting in place uncomfortably, fiddling with the cuffs of his suit jacket. She watched as his insecurity was overpowered by his rage.

"Stop what?" Her eyes widened innocently. She knew exactly what she was doing.

"Stop trying to figure me out."

"Oh, I'm not trying to figure you out. You're really quite obvious. What I'm trying to figure out is what you want from me," she said, matter-of-factly.

He immediately scoffed. "Don't flatter yourself, Lovegood. What could I possibly want from _you_?" He gave her a sickened look.

"I don't know. I want nothing from you either... Which is why I didn't acknowledge you a moment ago." She took her small pearl-beaded bag from atop the sink and clutched it regally with both her hands. "That seemed to bother you."

The contemptuous witch walked toward the exit, her wavy platinum hair lingering behind her for a few seconds. It was so shiny that Draco swore he saw it glitter.

He suddenly marched toward her with a nasty demeanor and swiftly blocked her from the exit. He leaned against the wall arrogantly, his arm bent over his head.

Draco grabbed her chin and pulled her face up to look at him. They were already awfully close, but still, he leaned his face even closer to hers.

"I know all about girls like you."

Alena closed her eyes for a brief moment and sucked her teeth inside her mouth. For a moment, Draco might have believed that she was flinching in fear of him. But when she opened her eyes, they were filled with a rage that nearly made him stumble in place.

"You know all about _what_?" She jerked her chin out of his grip, and pushed his shoulders away from her.

"I can assure you that you have no bloody idea. If you did, you would not have the audacity to position yourself like this between me and the door. Much less put your disgustingly clammy hands on my face," her voice was steady and calm.

"Move," she commanded.

Malfoy's smirk wiped itself off his face as if it had a life of its own. He was mystified. He slowly lowered his arm from the wall and moved out of her way.

"Brilliant," she spat, as she walked past him, slightly bumping into his shoulder as she did.

"You're an absolute—"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," Alena swung her head back as she turned around begrudgingly and interrupted him.

"This is just so juvenile, so boring. Obliviate me, will you? I miss the time before two minutes ago, you know, before you and I had ever spoken a word to one another."

"Oh, don't be so dramatic," Draco sneered, rolling his grey eyes.

"You wanted a reaction and you got one. If you ever want to talk to me again, try a different approach. Otherwise, don't bother at all. This whole _intimidation_ thing you're putting on," she swept him with her gaze again, "well, I'm not usually intimidated by odious little boys."

"What makes you think I _want_ to talk to you!?" Draco raised his voice.

"Why else would you just happen to waltz into the girls' lavatory? You knew I was in here, you creep. If you want to convince me that you don't want to talk to me, first convince yourself to stop staring at me all the bloody time."

He stood there silently with a stupid look on his face before she stormed out of the lavatory without looking back.

When Alena emerged into the foyer of the Great Hall, mild chaos had ensued. Hermione was crying as she shouted something at Ron, who was walking up the stairs with Harry.

"Hermione, what on earth?" She sat next to her on the steps and gently put her arm around her.

"Ron... he's ruined everything," Hermione said softly.

"No, he hasn't, Hermione," Alena said as she collected her from the floor.

"Come on, you're much too beautiful to be crying on these steps in this pretty dress. Don't think about Ron. We'll deal with him tomorrow."

✶

_Fucking bitch._

He wasn't entirely sure if he was referring to her, or himself. Or just the stinging sensation left in his chest after their interaction.

Even through the uppity smile she wore, he could see a tinge of sadness in her eyes. He could tell she had been crying—her nose was a pale shade of pink. If it were up to him, and they lived in a different reality, he would've asked her if she was alright.

But he had gone into the lavatory with a mission. To do what Theo had said— _Talk shit about Luna or call Granger a mudblood._

Anything to rile her up enough to wound him, anything to add on to the flimsy list of reasons he had to hate her.

It hadn't exactly worked out that way.

Yes, she had definitely gone places and said things that would infuriate him if they had come from anyone else's mouth. But her mouth—it was just so pretty.

Even though he had heard her voice before, there was something different about it when she was speaking to _him_. The sounds created by her vocal reeds there in the lavatory had been just for him—for his ears only. And it didn't matter how ruthless the words were. All that mattered was that he loved the sound of her voice, and he was far too focused on the sweet notes of it to internalize her bitter venom.

This one interaction made him realize that she had the upper hand. He was accomplished in the art of verbal aggression, but she was quicker and her jabs cut deeper. She had used subtlety and tone and his own tactics against him. It wasn't necessarily because she was better than him at it, he was just frozen by her scent and luster.

Draco had lied to his father about Alena. He had told his father that he found Dumbledore's granddaughter to be very plain. Despite being a Bona Fide Hatstall, she _chose_ Hufflepuff—so clearly she was an unexceptional bleeding-heart liberal. He told his father that he was disgusted by her, even more than he was disgusted by mudbloods. That he wouldn't consider her a threat to the Dark Lord's schemes like her grandfather. She was a nobody. A speck of dust in the wind.

He didn't know how long it would be until his father would discover he had lied—about every last bit of it. But he just couldn't bring himself to tell him the truth, because he hadn't been able to admit a lot of truths about her to himself.

One of those truths being that it was fucking hard to hate Alena Dumbledore. That was before he had spoken to her—now it felt impossible.

Draco walked back towards the sink and placed both his hands on the cold porcelain, scrutinizing his own reflection. He was disgusted by it. He couldn't even see himself in focus—he was distraught by her smell, which had lingered. For some reason he felt slimy... repulsive. So much that with a sudden retch, he vomited into the sink.

The effects of Alena Dumbledore. Everything inside him was mixed up. But that's not what nauseated him. It was the feeling she gave him after being so close to her. She was... fucking intoxicating.

Especially that night. Everything about her was in perfect place. It bothered him how he had found her—standing in front of the mirror—"fixing" herself. There was nothing to fix.

He checked the hand that touched her chin for any trace of her. Another retch into the sink.

He'd finally gotten a closer look into her eyes. They weren't blue and they weren't green. They were both. Splashes of blue and green hues met somewhere in the middle... and there was an eruption of warm yellow encircling her pupil.

 _Bloody fucking hell._ He'd never seen anything like it.

✶

Alena managed to cheer Hermione up and drag her back into the ball to dance some more. There was no way she would allow a witch as beautiful and brilliant as Hermione Granger to cry on the steps of the castle over a boy who had "the emotional range of a teaspoon," as Hermione often told her.

"George, you'll need to take me to the infirmary—I think I ruptured something in my stomach from all the laughing," Alena joked with George as they started to walk back towards Hufflepuff.

"Well if you expect me to apologize for being funny, I won't. Want me to carry you?" George offered.

"No, that's fine," she untied her satin heels and removed them as she held onto George. "Just let me lean on you the entire way."

The Weasley twin sighed when they arrived at the barrel doors of the common room. "Hold on, let me look at fairy princess Alena one last time," he held both her hands as he pulled her away from him to get a better look. "Merlin knows you'll be back to being a little troll by breakfast."

"Speaking of which... breakfast tomorrow?" She suggested.

"Duh," he replied.

"I had a great time, George."

"I had the worst time," he smiled. "No, honestly—all jokes aside—you were the perfect date. I'm glad you transferred from Ilvermorny and I'm glad we became friends."

He hugged her warmly, his arms wrapped around her waist and her head tucked under his chin. He was crouching down because of their difference in stature.

"I like you, Alena," he said softly. "But I wouldn't want to ruin our friendship. No matter how pretty you are."

"Me neither," she responded. "No matter how handsome and funny you are."

They were friends. Really good friends.


	18. The Poison-Pen Article

✶

_"A girl should be two things:_   
_who and what she wants."_

Coco Chanel

✶

Draco attended the Second Task of the Triwizard Tournament with Blaise, Theo, and Pansy—the four of them bundled up and standing closely together as they waited for the challenge to begin. The silver-haired wizard was there to cheer for Viktor Krum, simply because he felt more drawn to the national quidditch star than the overrated Hufflepuff prefect.

Things changed for Draco when Dumbledore casually announced through a _sonorus_ charm that four people were tied somewhere at the bottom of the Black Lake—to be rescued by each corresponding champion. The first three names that he called out were rather obvious and expected: Ron Weasley for Harry Potter, Gabrielle Delacour for Fleur Delacour, and even Hermione Granger for Viktor Krum. But he did not expect to hear Alena Dumbledore's name to be called for Cedric Diggory.

He felt an unwarranted rush of panic surge from the pit of his stomach and slowly make its cold way up to his chest. He did not want to have this feeling. Aside from being a completely preposterous sensation, it was also unreasonable—there was no way that Dumbledore would allow his own granddaughter to be placed in _true_ harm's way. He would have thought him capable of it, perhaps, if Draco hadn't been witness to Dumbledore's affection for Alena many times—in the Great Hall and in Alchemy class. The old headmaster's eyes told a story every time he saw his granddaughter, a story that depicted what Draco believed to be unconditional love.

He was envious of it. He knew full well that although his parents loved him immensely, it was a love held together by strict conditions. One wrong move on his part, and they'd disown him and forget he was ever their son.

Draco watched as Dumbledore leaned into Diggory to whisper something into the young champion's ear.

 _Don't fuck this up, Diggory—_ he imagined Dumbledore threatening.

Pansy pulled Draco back to reality by snapping her freshly manicured fingers in his face, as she tended to do. She then coiled her arm around Draco's and drew him away from Blaise and Theo—walking away inconspicuously and elegantly at the same time.

"Would you like to share a moment of candor with your old friend Pansy? No judgment," she proposed, with an annoyingly shrewd look on her face. "I have a feeling that you've curiously changed your allegiance from Viktor Krum to Cedric Diggory in the past couple of minutes."

Draco shook his head in disbelief, looking away from Pansy—a cynical smile drawn on his chiseled face.

"You know I respect you, but sometimes you just say the most _fucking_ absurd things," he replied. "Especially when you speak of yourself in the third person."

"I'm not _daft_ , Draco _—_ and you haven't necessarily been meticulous about keeping it a secret. Like I said, no judgment. Just be real for a moment," she insisted. Her aspect grew cold and bleak.

"Well, don't look so dreary, Pansy. If you know, you know. There's nothing more to say," he snapped. "I'm handling it."

"Look, I don't know what Theo said to you, but it's not a sin to like a pretty girl, Draco. So snog her, shag her. Lead her on for a couple of weeks, _whatever_. And then go on with your life. It doesn't have to be this whole dramatic thing."

Draco grabbed Pansy by the arm, having lost his patience, and leaned his face into the vicinity of hers.

"No, it's _not_ a sin, Pans. It's not. But what do you call this? I can barely focus on what you're saying to me because I know she's tied to some fucking rock at the bottom of the lake right now. Huh? What about the fact that I'm absolutely _livid_ that she's the person Diggory chose as his valuable hostage? Where's Cho fucking Chang? Hmm?" he whispered raucously through gnashed teeth. "What about the fact that I took this _tantalizing_ fucking Beauxbâtons girl to the ball, and I still wanted to _avada_ the shit out of George Weasley, because he had no fucking right? They looked so _stupid_ together, it made no bloody sense!"

Pansy looked up at her crazed friend with a dumbstruck expression on her pale, upturned face. Her green, catlike eyes were opened wide in utter shock and her prim hand wandered up to her mouth.

"Yeah, I'm fucked," Draco uttered, the corners of his mouth slanted in self-condemnation.

"Er... Yes, it sounds like you are, my friend," Pansy assured, her face frozen in the same dumbstruck expression.

Draco walked absentmindedly down the stairs to the platforms nearest to the water, Pansy following behind him.

"How are you _handling_ it?" She queried.

"I'm going to do absolutely everything to get on her bad side. I'm going to make her detest me, which shouldn't be hard at all. And hopefully at some point I'll start to hate her, too," he replied as he leaned into the guardrail and stared deeply into the water.

Cedric emerged from the lake carrying Alena in his arms; he looked like a bloody paragon of a Triwizard champion. The flimsy platform that the spectators were standing on shook violently as everyone cheered for him—the first one to complete the task. Draco couldn't tear his eyes away from what looked like an unconscious Alena. Her body was limp as Cedric carried her up the platform and gently placed her on the decrepit wooden floor.

"Draco—if you're really committed to making her hate you, and you're really determined to hate her back, then you can't keep doing whatever _this_ is. Look at yourself, you're worried sick and it's written all over your face," Pansy's voice sounded sort of wonky—like the words were fighting to be heard through static.

"What happened to no judgment?" He said vacantly, his focus still on the forbidden fruit—who was still unresponsive and being administered a pepper-up potion by Madam Pomfrey.

"Snap out of it! Look at me," Pansy grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him in her direction. "You know what our future looks like. Yeah, it was all fun and games growing up, but shit is getting _real._ Listen to me, Draco. Forget about this girl. She's probably going to be dead within a year."

Draco heard Alena's relieving gasp of air from afar at the same exact moment Pansy said those devastating words that echoed painfully in his ears.

_She's probably going to be dead within a year._   
_She's probably going to be dead within a year._   
_She's probably going to be dead within a year._

He loved Pansy, very much—but in that moment he wanted to lunge at her and fling her into the deepest region of the lake.

He stood before her like a deer in headlights, his eyes twitching and faltering in an unsettling way.

She dragged him to a secluded place near the back of the platform.

"I'm sorry to say this, but she'll be dead even sooner if _they_ happen to catch wind of your attachment—or whatever this is—to her. Have you even stopped to think about it? She's not just any blood-traitor, Draco. She's a Dumbledore. His most prized possession. I personally don't give a shit what happens to her, but you seem to care. Just stay away from her if you want her to have a chance."

Draco tried his best to keep his breathing under control and not seem too unhinged as he jumped into an empty canoe near the platform and rowed himself back to the shore as calmly as he possibly could. The wintry gust of wind wrapping the lake was severe and cruel, matching the emotions whirring inside his own chest.

He realized he had been worried about the wrong thing all along. He had been selfish in wanting to get her out of his mind—he didn't want _her_ to interfere with _his_ immovable fate.

What about hers?

✶

When Alena supplied Harry with a sprig of Gillyweed from her greenhouse, she was sure that that would be the extent of her role in the tournament. But the night before the task, she was summoned to Professor McGonagall's office and asked if she agreed to being tied at the bottom of the Black Lake for Cedric Diggory to rescue.

The valuable hostages were chosen in a similar manner as the Triwizard champions—names were entered into an Affinity Chalice by the tournament moderators. The chalice would then produce the name of the person it considered as highly valuable for the champion in question.

After the task, Cedric explained to Alena that he and Cho had broken up over the winter holiday. He admitted that he had developed a strong connection to Alena in a brotherly kind of way. Alena, being the sentimentalist that she was, felt very honored and moved by the Affinity Chalice's selection of her. In fact, Alena was over the moon to learn that Cedric had grown fond of her and trusted her like a sister.

Her Gillyweed had helped Harry save Ron and Gabrielle Delacour from drowning in the lake and also gained him a tie for first place with Cedric. All was good in the world. Except of course, Professor Snape accusing Harry of stealing the Gillyweed from his own stores.

"Alena, Gryffindor needs your weird pull with Professor Snape," Harry huffed, catching up to her on a busy corridor as they walked to class. "Desperately."

"What have you all done now?" She asked.

He raised his eyebrows. "What—nothing! Snape took 50 points from Gryffindor because he thinks I stole the Gillyweed from his personal stores _and_ he gave me a full week's detention on top of that. You'd think saving the lives of two people would get me out of this sort of thing," he complained. "Can you tell him it was yours?"

Alena curled her lip, as if she was thinking about it and needed convincing.

"I'll do anything," Harry pressed. "I'm already eternally indebted to you, anyway."

"Consider it done, Potter," she tousled his hair. "And no, you don't owe me a thing."

"What would I do without you?" He gushed, adjusting his round spectacles on his nose.

"You'd be perfectly fine, you've got Hermione and Ron. And my grandfather—he likes you better than me," she joked.

"Does he really?" His eyes widened.

"Almost, Harry, Almost." There was a small moment of silence, but it wasn't awkward.

"Hey—would you, Ron, and Hermione want to come hang out in my _greenhouse_?" She asked excitedly. "It would have to be on a day when there's fewer people in the castle, though."

Harry suddenly pulled Alena by the arm and took her into a nearby alcove.

"Ow—what is it?" She looked around suspiciously as she rubbed her arm, where Harry had grasped a little too hard. He peeked out into the corridor and quickly slipped back into the alcove, hiding from someone.

"Sorry. It's Rita Skeeter. What's she doing here? I can't stand a moment with that witch."

Alena was about to speak when she heard her name coming from a high-pitched voice.

"I'm looking for Alena Dumbledore, dear, would you happen to know where I could find her?" It was Skeeter asking a group of passing students.

Alena gasped—eyes wide and mouth agape. "What? Why is she looking for _me_?" She furrowed her brows. "I'm not ready to be part of a Rita Skeeter poison-pen article!" She said in a hushed tone.

"Shh!!" Her hushed tone wasn't quiet enough for Harry.

He hesitated."I guess I'll go out there and distract her so you can slip away. I'm used to being the subject of her articles already, anyway."

Her face was contorted with distress. "No—I don't think she knows what I look like. I'll just go—"

"My, my! What a pleasant surprise! Harry Potter and the _mysteriously_ beautiful Alena Dumbledore! It must be my lucky day," Skeeter curved her brow suggestively.

A loud gasp left her mouth. "Oh, no—Harry, are you alright, dear?" She asked with faux concern, placing her arm around him and pulling him out of the alcove, away from Alena.

"I'm fine, why wouldn't I be?" Harry asked in a displeased tone, dragging himself away from Skeeter's firm grip.

The eccentric witch doubled down and gave Harry a "motherly" hug, forcefully pushing his head under her chin. "Oh, poor Harry. Don't worry, my dear boy. It's all going to be fine now that I'm here," she lowered her voice. "She can't hypnotize you anymore."

"What? What are you talking about?"

"Oh! This why you entered the Triwizard Tournament, it all makes sense now! I've solved it!" She scribbled eagerly into her red leather-bound notebook with an oversized peacock feather quill.

Alena stood back with attenuated eyes, trying to piece together the vague statements coming out of Skeeter's mouth.

"Harry, dear, I'm so glad to learn it wasn't a death-wish after all. Not your own, at least. You're simply under a horrible enchantment by a—"

" _Veela_?" Alena blurted, her face carrying a mirthful smile.

Skeeter and Harry stared back at her, the reporter slowly positioning herself in front of the young champion.

"You think I'm a Veela?" Alena prodded, almost mockingly.

Skeeter threw a gestured wave at her cameraman, who promptly snapped a photo of the alleged Veela. "Good shot, Bozo?"

"Yeah, good enough." The man replied.

Alena burst into sudden laughter, Harry following suit after a few seconds of confusion.

"She thinks I—" Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she tried to breathe and speak through snorts and giggles.

"Wait a minute—Harry, she thinks I entranced you into—entering your name into the Goblet and—she thinks you _fought_ dragons and such—to impress _me_! Ha!"

An uncontrollable laugh attack ensued between the two friends.

"Well, that is quite a story, isn't it?" Harry said sarcastically under forced breaths.

"Oh, god. We are _so_ late to class," Alena reminded him as she calmed down and wiped her tears of laughter with the sleeves of her Hufflepuff jumper.

"Miss Skeeter, if you don't mind. Gotta go hypnotize some more boys."

"So _are_ you then?" The manipulative journalist queried.

"Am I what? _Impressed_? Of course I am! Harry has defeated a dragon and saved two people from the clasp of vicious Grindylows! What's not impressive about that?" Alena responded as she walked backwards across the corridor, Harry following closely.

"Wait! I've got a few more questions! Come back!" They heard Skeeter shout from a distance.

"Albus Dumbledore's granddaughter—a Veela. Can you believe it?" She said, drawing her peacock quill up to her mouth.

"No," responded Bozo. "I don't believe it at all."

✶

✶ ** _Witch Weekly_** ✶  
 ** _Issue 02_** ✶ **_January 1997_**

**_Dumbledore's Long Lost Legacy_ **   
**_is a Newly Infamous Veela_ **

_Weeks ago, our readers wondered why The Boy Who Lived would defy the rules of the Triwizard Tournament and willingly volunteer himself for such a life-threatening competition. The answer comes in the form of a mysteriously captivating witch by the name of Alena Dumbledore. That's right—Albus Dumbledore's long lost granddaughter has confirmed her status as Part-Veela._

_Although it is a relief to learn that it was not a psychotic deathwish which urged Harry to enter the tournament after all, it is certainly disconcerting to find that he did not enter willingly, but under the mesmeric charm of the new Veela in town._

_Read more on page 7._

✶

It wasn't long before copies of the _Witch Weekly_ magazine with Alena's face plastered on a corner of the front page appeared all over the school. There was a black block placed over her eyes in the photo—a preventative measure, of course. Unfortunately for Alena, the punchline wasn't that she was a Veela, as that wasn't really an interesting or ground-breaking discovery (or non-discovery). What made this particular story riveting enough was the completely untrue notion that Alena Dumbledore was the reason why a sixteen-year-old wizard was now involved in a deadly competition—fourteen-year-old in Rita Skeeter's version of events.

What an outrage it was to uncover the _truth_ —that the headmaster's own granddaughter had been the one behind such a huge violation of the tournament regulations.

Alena walked into the Great Hall during her study period and noticed the rowdy chatter in the room die down as a result. She strode slowly towards her friends—taking in the intense glares directed at her throughout the hall.

They were all from girls.

The boys were avoiding eye contact with her. Seamus Finnigan had a tendency to stand over the Gryffindor table announcing ridiculous headlines out to everyone during study period, but on this particular day, he sat down and stared into his copy of the _Daily Prophet_ without a word. 

_Et tu, Seamus?_

She slumped into her seat at the Gryffindor table with Hermione, Ron, Harry, and the twins.

"Are the Veela not on the Magical Creatures curriculum at Hogwarts? It makes no sense for everyone to be afraid of my _non-existent_ Veela glamour all of the sudden. Plus, the Veela _don't_ entrance their subjects through the eyes. Fleur doesn't get this treatment."

"Yeah, but she's not _infamous,_ " Ron replied. "You are."

Alena glowered at him. "Ron, if Fleur's Veela glamour wasn't strong enough to make you want to self-destruct, I'm sure the humiliation of asking her to the ball _was_."

"Brain got really foggy," Ron muttered with an embarrassed grimace.

" _When asked if she was a Veela, the mesmerizing girl with moon-bright skin and white-silver hair flowing behind her—despite the absence of wind—answered: Of course I am!_ " Hermione read aggressively. Alena assumed it was because she wanted to steer the conversation away from Ron's susceptibility to Fleur's charm.

There was a large picture of Alena with a charming smile across her face, her eyes blocked out as well. A smaller picture with a portrait of Harry looking entranced was overlapping with it.

"Did you actually say this?" Asked Fred, his own copy of the magazine in hand.

"Did I say those words? Yes. But not about being a Veela. I said—'but of course I am impressed with Harry.' You know, since the Veela hypnotize men into doing deadly things to impress them... _bad joke._ " She said, looking foiled as she rested her chin on the palm of her hand. Her robe was falling over one of her shoulders, exposing her white Oxford shirt.

Fred and George sniggered.

" _A mystery has been solved indeed, however, more questions have arisen from this situation. The first—are the young men of Hogwarts really safe?"_ Hermione continued, looking at her friend with disquiet eyes. " _The second—who is or was Alena Dumbledore's grandmother?"_

Alena shrugged sullenly. "I have no idea. I just know she was a witch, and definitely not a Veela."

"Rita Skeeter is an abomination. I should know _—_ I'm still afraid to open my mail thanks to her publishing those lies about me. People keep sending me horrible letters, I've already gotten an undiluted bubotuber pus and a howler in my post," Hermione slammed the magazine on the table angrily. "I bet you it was a Slytherin who made up this lie about you, Lena. Probably Pansy or one of her loathsome friends. Augh! Rita Skeeter should be banned from entering the castle!"

"She probably will be after this stunt," Harry added. "At least I hope so."

Alena groaned. "My grandfather is going to murder me for talking to her," she grumbled. "I didn't realize it would make it seem like a _killer_ is on the loose at Hogwarts. Or that it would bring the unknown identity of my—grandmother to the forefront."

"It's not your fault she harassed you out in the corridor. But I promise you, I'm going to get her back somehow. Her, Pansy Parkinson, and whoever is behind this," Hermione said defensively. "And it wouldn't be the first time there's a killer on the loose at Hogwarts, anyway. Not that you're a killer or anything."

"How can you be so sure you're not a Veela?" It was Ron, always Ron, with the insensitive questions.

"Ronald! I swear, I can't believe your impertinence sometimes," screeched Hermione as she hit him with her rolled up magazine.

"I think I'd know if I were a Veela, Ron. I don't have moon-bright skin, and my hair doesn't fly behind me in the absence of wind. Plus, Veela's have white- _gold_ hair, not white- _silver._ And I've never transformed into anything when angry."

Ron looked at her, unconvinced. "That sounds exactly like you."

Alena sighed and sunk her face into her hands.

"I had a diagnostic spell cast on a sample of my blood as a child, when my parents passed away. My grandfather was fighting to have custody of me over my father's adoptive parents. The spell is very thorough. No Veela blood. My records at the Ministry confirm it. I am not a Veela, Ron, officially."

"Couldn't they use the diagnostic spell to find out your grandmother's identity? They could've cross-referenced with all witches on file," Hermione was intrigued.

"They did. She wasn't on file at the Ministry. I assume she's from another country. We never talk about it," Alena answered curtly.

"The Veela are mainly from Bulgaria," Ron remarked quietly with raised brows.

George could tell Alena was beyond the feeling of discomfort with the prying questions.

"Do you think Rita Skeeter would be interested in _my_ testimony? I was hypnotized into being Alena Dumbledore's Yule Ball date. I'm a victim, too, not just Harry." He tousled her hair and fixed a loose strand behind her ear. "I'm not complaining, though. Are you?" He pointed at Harry with his chin.

"Nope, no complaints here," Harry flashed an understanding smile. "Although we were entranced into doing very different things, George."

"Dumbledore's got a lot of influence and money. He could've easily made those records say whatever he wanted," Fred added—stirring the pot, as usual.

At this remark, Alena stood up abruptly and nearly ran out of the Great Hall, her robes waving behind her. George glared at Fred and Ron as he ejected himself out of his seat.

"I would ask what is wrong with you two, but I'm painfully aware that you're both fucking idiots," he hissed––turning on his heel and going after Alena.

She didn't need another identity crisis. Could her grandfather have had her records falsified? Yes. Would he? Also yes. She wasn't oblivious to the extents her grandfather would go through in order to manipulate any situation as he saw necessary.

She knew she was not a Veela. But she didn't know _what_ she was.


	19. Bloody Veela

✶

_"Everything was perfectly healthy_   
_and normal here in Denial Land."_

Jim Butcher

✶

Draco strutted into the Slytherin common room after a long day of studies, hoping to sit by the fireplace and shoot the breeze with his cunning companions. What he saw made his blood travel all the way down to his feet and back up to his brain, fast.

Alena Dumbledore was sitting comfortably— _too_ comfortably—on one of the leather lounge chairs next to his favorite fireplace. She was wearing a gray Hufflepuff sleeveless sweater over a white Oxford shirt, both tucked inside her charmed pleated skirt and those gray socks that went up to her thighs. Her black velvet shoes with black silk ribbons were neatly arranged on the ground next to her, and she sat tailor-style while holding a mug with the Slytherin emblem on it. Tea or coffee—he didn't bloody know.

His eyes shifted about the room. Theo and Blaise were at her right, looking rather engaged. Theo might as well have transfigured his eyes into lustful hearts the way he was looking at her. Adrian Pucey—that bloody tosser—was sitting very close to her looking mighty proud of himself.

It was a well known fact around the Slytherin common room that Adrian Pucey was desperate for a snog with Alena Dumbledore. He'd had no luck in time for the Yule Ball, but ever since then, he had kicked it up a notch—and Draco had taken notice. Who was waiting outside of DADA and Potions often enough, ready to walk her and carry her book bag?

Sodding. Adrian. Pucey. He went around saying things like "it's not that serious," and "she's just nice to look at," but Draco knew he was lying. Adrian actually fancied her and was on a mission to go steady.

What was Alena whispering into Pucey's ear that made both of them smile so gleefully? Draco watched carefully as their stupid smiles turned into mild trepidation when the sound of shattering glass filled the air. Everyone turned to look at Malfoy.

He had purposefully dropped the mug he was holding. Anything to get Adrian's stupid face away from the proximity of hers.

And now that he had everyone's attention, the infuriated blonde wizard drew his wand and marched up to the Hufflepuff intruder, pointing it steadily between her eyes.

"What in the bloody hell are _you_ doing here?"

Pucey was ejected from his seat. "Hey—what are you playing at, mate? Put that away." He stood protectively in front of the platinum-haired witch; her eyes showed startled confusion for a brief moment, before she narrowed them slightly with a growing suspicion.

"Who let this bloody Veela into our common room?" Draco demanded.

The way Alena didn't flinch or cower under his wand did something to him. The only movement came from her eyes, which she had stopped squinting—a very small indication that she had just figured something out. She had done the same thing in the girls' lavatory the night of the Yule Ball.

"Well?"

Alena's amusement was beginning to materialize into a small smile at this point, although it was difficult to be amused in a room filled with the stench of Draco Malfoy's hateful energy. She placed her mug on the coffee table gently and stood up, smoothing down her skirt.

"Hi— _you_ seem agitated. Are you alright?"

" _Hi_ —which one of these idiots did you manipulate with your Veela glamour into letting you in here?"

"You're not very well-versed on the Veela, are you?" she said in a rather Luna Lovegood-y voice. "Put your wand away, I'm not threatening you." Ironically, her voice took a more threatening tone when she said that.

Blaise came around to Draco's side, and in a hushed voice asked, "Have you lost your mind? Pucey's let her in, obviously. The rest of us were fine with it."

Theo was still sitting in his original spot, his legs resting lazily over the coffee table. "Yeah, Draco. Stop this madness," he said indolently. He was munching on a block of Honeydukes chocolate, thoroughly entertained by the dramatic scene ensuing.

"I asked around and people were alright with it," Adrian explained, irritated by Draco's refusal to lower his wand.

"I don't remember being asked if I was okay with having a _Hufflepuff_ in our common room." He was beginning to look more unhinged.

"Bloody hell, mate, look at yourself. You have your wand drawn for no bloody reason," Adrian said.

"Draco, relax. Stop pretending like this common room has never been seen by Hufflepuff eyes before. If I remember correctly, you had Kat Laveau in here multiple times last year—in questionable positions, might I add," Theo remarked casually. "Unless that was just an erotic dream of mine."

" _Shut up_ , Theo. Just get out, Lovegood," Draco spat.

Alena had sat down again and began tying the ribbons of her shoes around her ankles. When she was done, she cleared her throat and took a few tentative steps towards the wand-wielding wizard.

"Goodness, Malfoy. I didn't break in, I was invited. Do you mind putting your wand down? You're accusing me of being a Veela, not a Chimaera, after all."

He didn't budge. She blinked her eyes three times in a row.

"Anyway, I think I'll call it a night. It was nice hanging out with you all outside of class," she said to Theo and Blaise. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Blaise gave her a dry, almost embarrassed smile, while Theo simply gave her a wave good-bye.

The witch was half-way through the common room on the way to the door, when Draco once again appeared in front of her, blocking her from the exit.

He wanted desperately to be stuck in an interaction with her just a little while longer.

"Answer the bloody question. Are you a Veela?" He dug his wand lightly into her throat this time.

Alena took a deep breath.

"Sure, I'm a Veela—and if you don't get your damned wand out of my throat, I will transfigure into an ugly harpy creature and peck your bloody eyes out," she said sinisterly.

"I swear to Merlin, Malfoy. You're really dead from the neck up of you think I'm a Veela. But thanks for finding me entrancingly beautiful, I guess?" She swatted his wand away from her neck and walked past him. "You're pathetic."

"I don't think you're anywhere near beautiful, you—" he faltered on his words, "repulsive half-breed. I just think you ought to be honest about _what_ you are."

"I'm sorry," she retorted sarcastically. "But I don't give a dragon's egg if you think I'm part pixie, giant, goblin, _or_ fairy. Sod off."

Alena's anger was slowly trickling all over her body, manifesting itself through her light heaving.

"It's just so convenient, isn't it? No one seems to know who your grandmother or parents were. So convenient that they're all dead."

Even the Slytherins knew he'd taken it a bit too far. There were gasps and murmurs throughout the room, albeit some with sly smiles. He had been gradually less vile with his words since fifth year—it felt like he had reverted back to his old ways.

She flinched at Draco's audacity, but bit her tongue to keep it from saying the nasty things that came to mind all at once.

"Woah—what the fuck, Malfoy? Did you not read today's paper? Her blood records have been released. Not a drop of Veela," Adrian uttered between his teeth.

"Why don't you go up to the headmaster's office and ask my grandfather yourself? People _know_ who my parents were—you despicable tosser. You're the one that made up that rumour about me and fed it to Rita Skeeter, aren't you? Just like your friend Pansy fed her those lies about Hermione," she said calmly, almost subdued.

A heavy suggestion of guilt appeared on his face. It was just a lucky guess from her part, but he gave himself away quite easily.

Alena crossed her arms and shook her head. "I knew it," she said under her breath before storming out of the common room. There was disappointment in her voice, which both stung and confused Draco.

"Oi, that was tough to watch," said Theo as he reached for Alena's abandoned mug. "I can't believe you really sat there and thought 'hmm, you know what would be a really horrible rumour to start about the girl I _hate_?' And you went with Veela." He smirked as he took a sip. "Reckon I'll turn into one from drinking this hot chocolate?"

Draco grimaced. "No, you buffoon. Since when are all these Slytherins so friendly with her?"

He eyed the Hufflepuff robes that had been left behind on the seat next to Theo.

"I don't know, but I'd let her into _my_ common room any day—if you know what I mean."

"Theo—shut the fuck up," Draco muttered in deadpan as he grabbed the robes and marched back out of the common room into the corridor.

"So he really just came in here to ruin our fun and then left, huh?" Theo said to himself as he finished the hot chocolate from Alena's mug.

Draco walked frantically towards the kitchens, where he imagined the Hufflepuff entrance would be. He didn't know, he'd never been near the Hufflepuff common room, not even for Katerina.

He saw them Alena and Adrian facing each other and sharing a hug. Pucey's hands were all over her hair and waist. He waited inside a dark alcove for him to bugger off before approaching the unsuspecting witch again.

✶

Alena hugged Adrian for half a split second, both thanking him for walking her back to Hufflepuff and apologizing for having inadvertently caused a scene in Slytherin. Her hair brushed against his hands swiftly, and he barely touched her waist as they embraced. Not that he didn't want to touch her, she just retreated rather quickly from the hug.

Draco emerged from the alcove as soon as he saw Pucey leave the corridor. Alena was walking alone, her back turned to him. Suddenly she stopped.

"What do you want from me?" She turned slowly. "I've been able to _sense_ how much you despise me since that day on the train, so I have purposefully avoided you and tried my best to stay out of your way. Why are you so bothered by me? I'm not _trying_ to upset you."

He found it very odd and unsettling how she had just known he was there. She gave off the same exact energy that Luna Lovegood often exerted, and for a moment it felt like the two witches were one in the same.

"The day on the train? You were clueless the day on the train. And you're not doing such a good job staying out of my way if you're _inside_ the Slytherin common room, are you?"

"No, I wasn't clueless on the train. I really wanted to believe that that was just your general disposition, but it's obvious you just dislike me. Why?"

_Because I have to. Because if I let myself like you I don't know where it would start or where it would end._

"Do you have any idea how irritating it is to have to hear about how _amazing_ you are all the time? Especially since it's all a lie. You've got everyone bloody fooled, but not me. I can see right through you."

"How do you know it's all a lie? You don't even know me."

"It's all rubbish. They call you Hufflepuff Angel in the Slytherin common room. You're no angel—you're just a manipulative whore. What sort of spells have you got everyone under? Or is it potions you're using? It's disgusting."

Alena winced when she heard him utter the word _whore_.

"Really? That's what you're going with? You sound like a jealous schoolgirl, Malfoy. You could've just said you _hate_ me because it's all your devious and spineless father ever taught you to do. To hate anyone who's not a sodding delusional Death Eater like him—"

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" He stepped closer to her.

"Shut up and stay back," she warned. "I'll say whatever I want about him _and_ your mother. You don't get to be offended. Not after you made a passing remark of my dead parents, you vile piece of garbage. You don't get to be offended after you just called me a whore," she bit her lip indignantly.

That word... it caught her completely off guard. "It's curious, your choice of words. It's like you're bothered that people actually like me. One could even assume you're..."

_Jealous._

She didn't finish her sentence, she just observed his face carefully and watched for any changes in his micro-expressions.

Draco knew what she was suggesting. He parted his lips, about to say something she could only assume to be foul. So she interrupted him before he could get the chance.

"I promise I won't go into the Slytherin common room again. That's your space and I'll respect that. And if for some reason we ever end up in the same room alone at the same time, I promise I'll leave immediately. I don't want to talk to you again, understand? I will literally run in the opposite direction if you ever speak a word to me."

Draco just stared back at her with a steady and sharp gaze.

"Oh, and never point your wand at me again. It's for your own good. I _will_ hex you into oblivion the next time you do."

The way that she was speaking to him—so authoritative and in control. He hated it, but loved it at the same time. He could already picture himself speaking to her again, and pointing his wand at her. He was never good at following directions.

"You're going to hex me, huh?" He scoffed. "I've said things tonight that should warrant immediate wand drawing, and you haven't bothered at all."

"I don't need my wand, Malfoy."

Alena's eyes were becoming glassy and pink. The glare Draco was shooting at her could sour milk.

She shifted her eyes down at her Hufflepuff robes, which Draco was clutching at his side, but she didn't bother mentioning it to him.

"Well, then. That's all I have to say. I'll do my part to stay out of your way. Good night."

She turned around and walked in the direction of the Hufflepuff nook, leaving the sweetest smell of berries lingering in the air around Draco. A half-smile appeared on his face against his will, as a response to her voice wishing him a good night.

"Wait," he said stiffly, wiping away the smile.

"I heard Adrian say the other day that he doesn't _actually_ like you." Draco paused. "He said you're just a pretty thing to look at. He just wants a snog."

Alena stopped in her tracks. She closed her eyes, pursed her lips, and sighed—still giving him her back.

"Just thought you should know how he really feels about you."

She circled around to face him again and looked at him despondently. "We're not... Adrian and I aren't... we're just friends."

"Oh," Draco shifted uncomfortably in place, slipping a few repressed looks at Alena's face, avoiding her eyes. He wished he was closer to her.

"Good."

✶

**☞** **_Daily Prophet_ ** **☜**   
**_Thursday, January 12, 1997_ **

**_Setting the Record Straight:_ **   
**_Dumbledore Releases Granddaughter's Blood Records_ **

_Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore has released his granddaughter Alena Dumbledore's official blood records, which were cast in the winter of 1988. This disclosure comes after Alena was outed as being a Part-Veela responsible for entrancing a young, promising wizard into dangerous acts—such as battling a dragon and remaining underwater for an hour._

_The records reveal that Alena Dumbledore is in fact a pureblood witch—having four wizard-born grandparents (Midas Lovegood, Doralie Lovegood neé Fawley, Albus Dumbledore, unknown pureblood witch) and two wizard-born parents (Thatcher Harlowe [Dumbledore] and Anesidora Harlowe neé Lovegood)._

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry also released a statement, announcing the signature of a decree hereby banning journalists and other members of the media from the castle and school grounds until further notice._


	20. Force of Habit

✶

_"We do not get to choose how we start out in life. We do not get to choose the day we are born or the family we are born into, what we are named at birth, what country we are born in, and we do not get to choose our ancestry. All these things are predetermined by a higher power. By the time you are old enough to start making decisions for yourself, a lot of things in your life are already in place. It's important, therefore, that you focus on the future, the only thing that you can change."_

Idowu Koyenikan

✶

Alena wanted so badly to be unaffected by Draco Malfoy. But by the time he had nastily accused her of being a _half-breed,_ mentioned her dead parents, and called her a whore—his energy was disturbing enough to make her want to vomit and cry at the same time. And yet—despite it all, despite his terrible demeanor and vile words towards her, she had somehow received mixed signals.

There was something about him that was telling. She couldn't put her finger on it, but it revealed a certain regard for her. She imagined there must've been a disarray of emotions whirling around in his brain like a _confundus_ charm.

That's what it felt like to her. Like a tidal wave of darkness mixed with a single ray of sunlight. Like a sharp, stabbing pain that was isolated to one particular spot in her body. Like a warming charm prickling the skin on the most bitter winter day.

She desperately needed to figure out how to gain control of her accumency abilities.

But for now, she had a pending visit with the Potions Master, this time to talk to him about a certain batch of Gillyweed used to win a certain Triwizard challenge.

She peeked her head through the doorway of his office and knocked. "May I come in?"

She watched as the Professor suppressed a smile. "Yes, come in. Sit."

"So... I guess I'll just get right to it. Harry didn't steal Gillyweed from your storage closet. He got it from me."

He raised an eyebrow. "You cannot take the blame for your Gryffindor friends whenever they are in trouble."

"I'm not. I wouldn't lie to you. I grow Gillyweed in—"

"Fine, no need to give me further explanation, I believe you. There's something else that's bothering you. What is it?" He was too distracted by her slightly disheveled appearance to be bothered with the Gillyweed.

Her eyes were red and puffy, her hair was a bit messy, and her tie was loose around her neck. She was stopping by after DADA—one of the classes she had with Draco—and his energy after their argument the night before had made her throw up again.

"I... I need help with—"

No one but Luna knew about their use of accumency. Before she could make something up to finish her sentence, Snape read the word in her thoughts. She was in such an unfit state of mind that her occlumency walls had failed her, and he barged in at the first chance.

"Accumency?" He was an expert at concealing his emotions—yet in that moment, the planes and lines of his face contorted to show an array of them. Concern, shock, disbelief, confusion, and _fear_.

Alena's heart began beating so fast that she swore Snape could hear its thumping sounds.

"Erm..."

_Shit._

Her eyes shifted down to her lap, where her hands rested with palms facing up and with her fingers curled—exposing her oval-shaped and neatly manicured nails.

"Please," he said in a low voice. "Tell me you haven't been dabbling in accumency, Alena."

It was unusual for Professor Snape to use her first name. He tended to call her Harlie in private, or Miss Dumbledore in class. It was bad.

"Does the headmaster know about this?" He interrogated.

Oh, he referred to her grandfather as _headmaster_ to her. It was _really_ bad.

"No, why? I didn't think it was that big of a—"

"Alena," he interrupted. "Your grandfather has made sure to teach you everything you _need_ to know, has he not? He would never deprive you of any knowledge he deemed appropriate or necessary for you to possess. If he avoided teaching you _this_ , it must be with good reason."

"What's the reason?"

"That is something you need to speak to him about yourself. I'm sure you were aware that there would be certain implications. Otherwise, you would not have deliberately hidden it from him—or from me."

They both looked at each other silently for a brief moment. She bit her lip as she tried to keep herself from shaking.

"You're reading things unintentionally, I imagine? It's started to affect your daily life, hasn't it?" There was mild irritation in his voice.

"Yes," she replied softly and guiltily.

"I just need help controlling it... I just need to learn how. I've done it with legilimency—how different could it be, really?"

"These two faculties are complete worlds apart! You will drive yourself to madness!" He shouted, sliding his hand across his desk angrily and sending everything on it flying. He had gone from mildly irritated to engulfed by rage in half a second.

Alena was no stranger to Snape's outrage. There were some things, like occlumency, that could only be learned under harsh conditions. At least that's what _he_ would say to excuse what Alena could only view as borderline abuse.

"If I could handle occlumency lessons with _you,_ I definitely could—"

"No, no, no—Alena. You have no idea what you're talking about. Occlumency was easy for you because you're a natural legillimens. Your mind was much _older_ than you by the time you learned occlumency—it had experienced deep pain and trauma, and therefore had already produced a fair amount of magical armour useful for occlumency. Accumency has nothing to do with how impervious your mind is."

"My mind isn't impervious. You of all people should know that," she wavered.

"It _was_ impervious. Despite your—internal issues, you always demonstrated resilience and soundness of mind. Accumency has lowered your mental state."

Alena's face was straight-forward, but her eyes continued to look down at her hands. She fiddled with the sleeves of her black and gold jumper, and removed and replaced her rings compulsively several times.

_Despite your internal issues._

She _was_ a good actress. She _was_ able hold it together long enough to make them believe she was good and sound.

"How can I fix it?" She whispered.

"I don't know. Your guess is as good as mine. I will have to take a trip to the restricted section of the library and see if there's anything useful, but it's unlikely that I'll find anything. There's very little information on the subject," he paused, letting out an exasperated sigh and raking his hands through his jet black hair.

The painful silence rang bitterly upon her ears.

"All I can recall is that dark witches and wizards have used it to torture and oppress others remotely—large groups of people. Alena, whole towns and villages! It was rumoured that Gellert Grindelwald used accumency to do despicable things during the war. Tell me, what have you been feeling?"

Alena's eyes welled up and she watched as her tears dropped onto the open palms of her hands. 

"Don't... cry," he said austerely. "Tell me!"

"In the castle... sometimes I feel like there's..."

"Like there's what? Spit it out!"

"I don't know what it is exactly. The feeling is so strong that sometimes it's a bit hard to breathe. Sometimes it makes me feel so sick that I need to throw up. That's all," she lowered her head and her silver hair draped over her face, covering most of it.

"That's all? _That's all_? You're having very physical reactions to things that are supposed to be purely intuitive! Everything we've worked towards could be ruined, do you understand? What do you think will happen when the Dark Lord returns? You'll be useless!" Snape shouted, standing up abruptly and pacing around the room.

She flinched at his words and finally dug her face into her trembling hands, which were now soaked in her tears.

"You must speak to your grandfather about this promptly. I would drag you to him right now, except he isn't in the castle at the moment. As soon as he returns, you must confess what you have done."

He leaned against his desk in front of Alena, grabbed a few tissues from a nearby box, and handed them to the crying witch.

"I don't like to see you like this. You look weak. And we did not raise you to be weak," he chastened.

She wiped away the tears, but they continued to surge out of her glossy eyes. The yellow bursts around her irises seemed to have engulfed the blue and green parts of them.

"I need to see my uncle," she uttered through sniffles. Her voice was nasally and soft.

"Fine," Snape replied, crossing his arms.

Alena broke through the castle and walked resolutely towards the Magnus Turris tower—to the one-eyed witch passage.

She managed to use the passage to the Honeydukes Sweetshop cellar and arrive at Hog's Head Inn completely undetected. It was a long trek, but one that was worthwhile, all to get that warm hug from her Grand-Uncle Aberforth.

Uncle Abe, as she called him, was one of the most important people in the world to her. She had lived with him half the time before she went off to Ilvermorny; spending weekdays with Uncle Abe at his inn and pub, and weekends with her grandfather at Hogwarts. The only thing she'd bring back and forth between the two places was her mint suitcase.

"You only come to me when you need something, Harlie," he said teasingly as he held her in his arms and caressed her head gently.

"Have I ever asked for too much?"

"Never, dear."

She had resolved to get away from the oppressive energies that lived inside the castle, even if just for a few hours. But she realized rather quickly that the indecipherable feeling that rested in her gut like a jagged rock had followed her all the way to Hogsmeade.

She had no idea what this meant.

✶

Alena eyed the empty headmaster's throne-like chair gloomily during dinner one evening from her usual spot at the Hufflepuff table.

"You've barely touched your food, Alena," Cedric pushed her plate towards her. "For days. Don't think I haven't noticed."

"I haven't been very hungry. I think I may have a bug." It had been a few days since her conversation with Snape and her grandfather was still gone.

He hadn't bothered sending her a single owl about his whereabouts or when she should expect him back—which she found extremely irritating—but she had to remind herself that he was an extraordinarily important wizard, and sometimes she simply could not be a priority.

"Want me to walk you to Madam Pomfrey's? Don't take this the wrong way, but you look bad. You're paler than usual and your eyes are nearly bloodshot," Cedric insisted. He held his hand up to her forehead and cheeks, checking her temperature.

Maybe it _was_ time to visit the infirmary. She'd been throwing up so much that it was starting to become part of her daily routine. She had no idea what she'd say to Madam Pomfrey, though.

She gave Cedric a feeble, yet genuine smile.

"How is it that you're capable of caring for others while keeping your nerves under control? Especially when you've got an important task coming in just a few days. It's incredible."

"It's just not time to worry about that yet. There's other things... For example, I think if your grandfather were here, he'd be concerned about you," he stared back at her with a serious expression. "So, Madam Pomfrey's?"

The peaky witch looked down at her dinner plate, which was filled to the brim with mashed potatoes and a good sized slice of shepherd's pie. She picked up her fork and tried her best to perk up.

"Not tonight. Maybe tomorrow morning, Ced."

Coincidentally, Draco sat across from her view at the Slytherin table with Blaise. He was wearing a Slytherin green sweater vest over a white Oxford shirt without a tie. Alena trailed his sharp jawline with her eyes slowly, then followed the curled outline of his full lips. His striking platinum hair, which he wore in a classic side part, made him stick out in the crowd like a sore thumb. She'd gotten a closer glimpse of his eyes during their unpleasant interactions, she thought they shone like moonstones. She loved moonstones.

He had one of those chin dimples—it was like the cherry on top. Alena couldn't remember ever seeing him smile, but she imagined it would make him look even more handsome. Altogether, he looked so—aristocratic and dignified.

Too bad he was anything but. Alena hadn't forgotten about his incredibly uncouth behavior towards her. In fact, she could hardly stop thinking about it.

✶

Alena found herself sitting on the ground at the top of the Astronomy Tower after hours. It was freezing cold and raining moderately, but she felt restless and confined in her dorm room and needed to feel the wind against her skin. She took a vile of Draught of Peace and her comfort book, _The Alchemist,_ up the tower with her.

She had conjured herself a comfy cushion to sit on tailor-style, and waved her hand in a circle over her head to cast a shielding charm to keep herself dry. The rain hit smoothly against the transparent, spherical shield—and fell off of it like a waterfall suspended in midair.

She opened the battered paper-back book and folded the cover around, holding it with both her hands. She took half a vile of Draught of Peace and as it combined with the purifying air and the sounds of the rain, it begun taking effect upon her body, allowing her to have a moment of sheer tranquility for what felt like the first time in forever.

Time escaped her—she'd already read about half of her book by the time she returned to reality. She slowly looked up from the page with eyes narrowed into the darkness and dropped the book to the ground.

Something was coming to her.

She felt it, creeping up from the ground beneath her, reaching out to her and pulling her in. She didn't know what it was—it was too subtle and elusive to name. She felt her heart flutter inside her chest, quicker and quicker in just a matter of seconds. By the time she realized it, she was breathing heavily—inhaling and exhaling rapidly.

It was... dread. Painful, chilling, dread.

A tidal wave of it enveloped her entirely, penetrating and saturating her skin.   
The dread that had evenly dispersed itself along every nook and cranny of her body was now drawing itself together and meeting at the center of her stomach—pulling violently at her insides and weighing heavily at her core.

Her shield charm broke and the cold rain it was holding crashed over her so harshly that it felt as if she'd fallen sharply into the Black Lake directly from the tower.

Something horrible was going to happen in the Astronomy Tower.

She didn't know what or when or why. But she could feel it in her bones—she was sitting in the exact place where something _horrible_ was going to happen.

She felt helpless and useless and desperate. How could she prevent it if she had no idea what it was? She picked herself off the ground and walked slowly to the metal railing of the balcony overlooking the lake. Her rich yellow silk robe and nightgown were clinging to her skin.

The dread felt like a brick inside her, she struggled to keep herself up. She gripped the rails tightly, as if holding on to dear life as streams of tears poured from her multi-colored eyes. She could not feel them, since the rain was hitting swiftly against her face.

"What are you doing here?" She heard a voice question from behind her.

She turned to find the same aristocratic face she had observed earlier in the Great Hall. He was wearing green plaid pajama pants and a black cotton jumper.

She stood frozen, unable or unwilling to speak.

Draco cleared his throat, noticing her tears despite the light drizzle of rain. The expression on his face was cold, but his eyes betrayed him. There was concern spilling out of them.

 _Who did this to you?_ He wondered _._

He took a few steps in her direction, but as he did, she slid across the railing to get away from him.

"Stay back," she warned in a weak murmur. "Don't get any closer."

"You shouldn't be up here alone, Lovegood."

She ignored him and reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out the vile holding the rest of the draught with a trembling hand.

"What's that for?"

She drank the remaining contents of the vile and turned her back to Draco, facing the lake again. The rain had ceased by then. The moonlight was shining beautifully upon it, and she wondered about the endless creatures residing beneath it to clear her mind. She took a deep breath in through her nose, her hands resting on her chest and feeling it rise. Closing her eyes, she blew a string of air out through her pursed lips. She continued a few times until she heard shuffling sounds coming from Draco.

He had his wand drawn, and before she could even wonder what for—he gave it a wave and said, " _ventus calidus."_

A jet of hot air emerged from the tip of his wand and in a brief couple of seconds her robe, nightgown, and hair were dry.

Alena glared at him, refusing to thank him. She was perfectly capable of drying herself off.

"You're mad at me," he smirked, pacing around the circular platform. He spoke as if they were life-long friends who'd had a simple fallout. Her glaring eyes trailed him.

"Look, I don't like you; I'm sure you know why. But I was way out of line the other night. Mentioning your parents like that. Calling you a—"

_Whore._

"Don't," Alena blurted. The last thing she imagined was that he'd bring that up. "Don't say it again," she threatened.

"Alright. Well, point is that I don't think you're— _that._ And I shouldn't have said any of it. But I'm a fucking arsehole, so what're you gonna do?" He shrugged.

_Is that supposed to be an apology?_

_"_ Anyway _, Lovegood._ Just wanted to let you know I'll stick to calling you a blood-traitor and glaring at you every once in a while. You understand."

No, she did not understand.

Draco leaned his forearms against the railing of a balcony that was across from her, his hair flying over his face messily. The silence between them was good. It was the whooshing of the wind and the crashing sounds of waves.

She wasn't ready to leave the tower just yet. She still needed to gather a few more breaths and calm the rate of her heart by several less beats.

"You know, you don't have to call me anything and you don't have to glare at me," she finally said. "You don't even have to dislike me."

He scoffed. "Of course I do. What else am I supposed to do? _Like you?"_

"No," she turned to gaze at the night sky, just like he was doing from a separate balcony. "You can just pretend I don't exist. Can't you?"

_I wish._

There was silence for a moment again. Draco cleared his throat and said, "Or you could just stop being a blood-traitor. Then we could maybe get along."

"What blood? I'm not betraying anyone's blood, Malfoy."

"You're betraying your own blood. I read that article about you—your blood records. Your status is confirmed as pureblood by Ministry standards."

"I'm _not_ a pureblood. That whole _'four wizard-born grandparents make a pureblood witch or wizard_ ' is a complete farce. A loophole designed by pureblood families to be able to introduce new blood without giving up their precious blood status—after they realized inbreeding was causing many health woes to their offspring," she said, matter-of-factly with a tinge of mockery. "If I were to take on that title and label myself as pureblood, knowing it's an outright lie, _then_ I'd be betraying my blood."

Draco had no idea how to respond. It felt like the only appropriate response he could come up with was to pitch himself off the Astronomy Tower.

"Thanks for the history lesson," he replied with irritation. "It's an honorific title. The world is handing it to you on a silver platter and you decide to reject it. Not many have that privilege."

"Clearly you and I have very contrary ideas of what honor and privilege truly is," she returned. "Plus, you're delusional if you think I could be both a Dumbledore and a blood-purist. Not that I would ever be so inclined."

"Well, I suppose it's the same sentiment as being both a Malfoy and a blood-traitor. An impossible paradox."

_It's not the same at all. Not even a little bit._

She glanced at the stranger standing beside her. Far away and still much too close. So full of prejudice and fabricated vainglory.

"This is—wrong," she said softly, not really expecting him to hear her.

"What is?"

"The two of us... talking like this. Getting a little too familiar," she confessed. "We're on opposite sides of the barricade. Always will be."

She wondered if he was truly an aspiring Death Eater. He looked so harmless standing there. Even though he was incredibly tall and statuesque. Even though he had been vile to her before, he seemed defenseless. The havoc she frequently detected from him was impalpable at best; but if she had learned anything from it—it was that not even Draco knew who he was.

He had surrendered himself to the role that had always been expected of him—a role that may have fit him well when he was younger. But at some point, he had outgrown said role, that of callous villain. It was a theory, at least.

"I'm not warming up to you by any means. Are you warming up to me?" He asked mischievously.

"No, Malfoy. I'm definitely not."

The sound of soft, approaching footsteps filled the air, and they both turned to face the stairway that led up to the platform. The footsteps sounded so small and childlike, that Alena imagined it had to be one of the house elves.

From the stairs emerged a dazed Luna Lovegood, and without acknowledging them, she walked all the way to one of the balconies between Draco and Alena.

Alena's startled expression faded away rather quickly, and surprisingly enough, Draco didn't seem the least bit confused or shocked at the situation.

Alena drew her wand and gave it complex wave in the direction of her bleary cousin, causing a pale blue jet of light to emanate from the tip and hover over Luna like a sparkling firework. It then fell slowly and spilled over her head like an egg yolk—gradually sinking into her.

"She sleep walks," Alena explained. "Don't you dare say a rude thing to her when she awakens."

Draco shrugged his shoulders smugly.

Luna's eyes opened and she rubbed them with the palms of her hands. She was barefoot and wearing long white sleeping robes. After yawning and stretching her arms out over her head, she took a curious look at her surroundings, but remained calm.

"Merlin's beard, I've traveled a bit far tonight, haven't I?" She said in her light, airy voice.

"Yes, you have, dear. I wonder how often you wind up here. It's incredibly dangerous." Alena said worriedly, casting a warming charm around Luna as she spoke.

"Harlie—this place is filled with dread. Do you feel it? We should get back to the castle," Luna replied. "Oh, hi Draco. Didn't see you there."

Draco acknowledged her by lifting his chin dubiously, but didn't say a word.

"Come on," she held her hand out for Alena to hold. "If you've been up here for longer than five minutes, I think you need some Chamomile tea with a dash of Calming Draught."

The two witches walked towards the stairs hand in hand. "Goodbye, Draco. I suggest you go back to bed, too." Luna cautioned. "Don't marinate too long in the energy of the tower."

He took a last look at the moonlit lake and the dark outlines of the trees. He nearly stumbled on a book that was left behind on the floor— _The Alchemist._ He placed it in his pocket and then he followed quietly and distantly behind the Lovegood girls.

A force of habit.

Draco was a frequent visitor of the Astronomy Tower late at night, and so was a sleepwalking Luna. He'd never woken her up, but he always led her back to Ravenclaw tower. His reward for ensuring Luna's safe return was the riddle he got to decipher at the entrance of the common room, asked by the bronze eagle knocker. He thoroughly enjoyed the Ravenclaw riddles.

It was a nice thing he did that no one knew about, just a small thing that made him feel like he wasn't a complete monster.

✶


	21. Say Her Name

✶

_"She is fire, he is ice._   
_One glimpse of her ignites_   
_his stone cold eyes._   
_The heat of her_   
_body melts the frozen_   
_parts of his heart."_

Christy Anne Martine

✶

Draco walked into his dorm room with Alena's copy of _The Alchemist_ in hand. The book was quite tattered and moist from the rain, so he cast a couple of spells to dry it off and restore the edges of the pages. He placed it inside the bottom drawer of his nightstand, on top of neatly folded Hufflepuff robes. Whether he intended to return these items to her was unknown.

Soon after his head hit the pillow, he began replaying the events of the night—predominantly images of the golden silk robes she wore and the way they cleaved against her buxom body, soaking wet. He couldn't help but to feel lucky. Seeing her at all felt like a treat. Seeing her drenched in silk... that was pure magic.

He reached under his bed and pulled out a spare bottle of firewhisky, taking a generous sip. A warm and tingly sensation lingered on his tongue.

_"This is wrong. The two of us... talking like this. Getting a little too familiar."_

He heard her velvety and melodic voice sing in his ear.

She was right—it _was_ wrong. It was all wrong.

_"I'm not warming up to you by any means."_

Lies. He had begun warming up to her the very second he lay his eyes on her. He remembered it quite distinctly—especially that stinging sensation he felt after he realized who she was.

First—warmth, all over his body. No, not warmth. _Heat_. His mouth and throat went dry. Droplets of perspiration formed on his forehead. He felt himself glow red, even though he was a neon green flame ignited in the presence of copper.

The girl on the train was copper—bestower of a burning thrill and conductor of ecstasy and energy. She was an _inpulsa_ spell, sending electrical shocks to the heart and enlivening things within him he had believed to be dead.

Mere seconds later, he was crashing into an arctic lake and being submerged into frigid realization. His insides were crystallized and shattered and crystallized again. His eyes and blood were frozen within him as he became an icy phantom; heavy-laden and bitter.

She couldn't be copper. She was Alena Dumbledore.

And yet, for months and without even trying, she'd been thawing him slowly and effortlessly. No matter how glacial he wished to remain.

As he lay in bed, sweaty and sloshed, he thought about Alena's strange behavior in the past couple of days. Draco couldn't help it if he was extremely observant. It was his duty after all, wasn't it? As prefect.

She wasn't gliding about the school as she usually did, but almost seemed to be dragging herself everywhere. Those two little knots on the top of her head with the little golden clips and trinkets around them had not made an appearance in what felt like forever. Apparently, she'd given up on transfiguring her robes as well—the yellow hues of her cloak and tie were no longer warm and muted, but loud and obnoxious like every other Hufflepuff's.

No brooch in the shape of a flower or insect or animal was pinned to her cloak. And the pleated skirt wasn't several inches shorter, either.

The most alarming thing she had stopped doing, he noticed, was eat. It had been days—breakfast, lunch, and dinner—that her plate was left nearly untouched.

Draco kept eyes on Cedric, and George, and Hermione, and Luna—anyone who she sat with in the Great Hall during meal times. How could they not notice how little she'd been eating? How had none of them dragged her to the infirmary already?

He took another prolonged swig of firewhisky and grimaced as he felt it burn through his esophagus and land in his stomach. His brain was foggy and his body heavy and hot.

He _craved_ another interaction with her. That was the truth that no one had to know. He wasn't going to act on it, of course. It didn't harm anyone if he just secretly, to himself, desired badly to be stuck in an interaction with her once again. Even if just for a minute.

_I hate her. I hate her. I hate her._

He repeated the thought in his head like an opium addict trying to convince himself he hates poppies.

✶

The next day, Draco woke up with a throbbing headache. The dusty, early-morning rays of sunlight that managed to barge in through his drawn curtains seemed to seer into his eyeballs and burn into them.

_Hungover on a Thursday morning. Fuck._

He got out of bed, walked over to his armoire, and opened one of its wooden doors. A boy who looked like his evil twin stared back at him from the oval mirror inside it. His eyes were bloodshot and there were dark circles under his eyes. He looked old and fatigued, deep lines overruling his smooth skin.

He couldn't recognize himself. But he figured that he looked exactly how he felt. Like rubbish.

" _Excessu,"_ he whispered hoarsely, pointing his wand up to his temple. It was Snape's sobering spell. The Slytherin head of house had taught it to him one summer evening, when Draco appeared at his doorstep out of desperation.

It had been one of those nights when Draco's father drank too much of his favorite expensive Italian vermouth and could not seem to contain his disdain towards him—disappointed and enraged by his son's incompetence.

What had been the point of investing in the best quidditch trainers and buying top-of-the-line brooms for the entire Slytherin team, if Draco continued to come up short against Harry Potter?

How was it possible that time and time again, that filthy Gryffindor _mudblood,_ Granger, beat him out of earning the Scholar's Cup for his house?

Lucius had been cruel to Draco all weekend long in his drunken outbursts while Mum was away visiting family—not even the enormous manor was big enough for the both of them. Thirteen-year-old Draco climbed on his broom and ended up in Spinner's End with Snape, who taught him the spell in case he ever needed to use it on his inebriated father.

A knock at Draco's dorm room door brought him back to the present time.

" _What_?" He called out in a flustered tone, slamming the armoire door shut.

"It's Goyle," a deep, rumbling voice responded.

"Yeah, come in then."

Goyle peeked his head and half of his body through the door and looked around the room for Draco.

"Ah, there you are, mate. Ready for breakfast? We've got that partnered project in Moody's today, so it's going to be a long class."

_Partners... right._

He remembered Moody talking about it earlier in the week. He had watched as Alena looked at the empty seat next to hers and could've sworn he saw slight panic draw itself on her face.

Draco groaned.

"Fuck that. I'm skiving off," he muttered.

"What? why?"

"I'm knackered, Goyle—what's it to you? I'm just not going."

Goyle swung the door open to let himself in and jumped on Draco's bed, the mattress sinking several inches under his heftiness. Puberty had done its wonders on Goyle, better than any magic could've done for his appearance. He was no longer the chubby boy he once was, although he was still big. He was muscular and heavily built, and his jaw was as sharp as a blade.

"Alright, _we're_ skiving off then," he said with his arms arched over his head, leaning against the headboard. "But first, breakfast."

"Goyle—get the fuck off my bed. Now I'll have to _scourgify_ my sheets," Draco replied. "I'm not hungry, but you go ahead. Meet me in the common room after."

Draco's four poster bedstead creaked loudly as the burly wizard stood up from it. The high pitched noises coming from the metal coils of the mattress bouncing in sequence almost sounded like a music box being crushed by a Hippogriff.

"Fine, have it your way," Goyle replied. "See you in the common room then."

He left the room without closing the door behind him, a habit that annoyed Draco to no end. The platinum-haired wizard waved his wand towards the door to close it.

Without skipping a beat, he began getting dressed rather briskly—throwing his gray jumper over this white Oxford shirt and tying his silk Slytherin tie around his neck. He hung his book-bag over his shoulder and grabbed his robes from atop the desk before making his way to the Slytherin boys' community bathroom.

It was steamy and crowded with boys coming in and out of the showers and stalls, getting ready for the day. All the sinks were currently occupied, so he walked over to a younger looking boy, perhaps a second or third year, and stood impatiently behind him.

"Hurry the fuck up," Draco hissed. "I haven't got all day."

The boy turned around and faced Draco.

"Aren't you supposed to be a prefect?" He questioned.

Draco smirked, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Yeah, and I've got prefect shit to do before class. Now hurry up."

"So unnecessarily aggressive," the boy said under his breath as he gathered his things from the sink.

"Are you new or something?" Draco queried as he took over the sink. "Go to Hufflepuff if you can't handle it."

The boy strode off without a word.

Draco studied his face again as he brushed his teeth. He was already looking much better than he did earlier in the morning. The redness in his eyes had faded, and the lines around his face had softened. He still had dark circles under his eyes, but not at the expense of his aspect. He looked fine.

He combed his white-silver hair in a side part and pinned his silver Slytherin tie clip to his tie. Finally, he put on his robes and smoothed them down. He was always careful about his appearance, but on this particular day, he seemed to be more attentive.

Draco sprayed on his favorite cologne before marching out of Slytherin towards the Magnus Turris tower—to Defense Against the Dark Arts class.

He was early, and hoped Goyle didn't show. He sat anxiously as the class filled up with students filtering in, his eyes fixed on the clock at the front of the class.

8:59 a.m.

_Here she comes._

How did she always manage to arrive at the last possible minute every morning?

He noticed she still seemed to be dragging herself about. She dropped her baby blue leather embossed backpack to the ground and kicked it under her desk as she took her seat. Granger, Weasley, and Potter turned around and acknowledged her from across the room, and so did Seamus and Dean, who both sat in the row in front of hers. Her smiles seemed forced and low energy, but at least she was wearing the two signature knots on her head that day.

Moody took attendance before explaining the parameters of the project to the unenthusiastic class.

"Alright then, your partner for this project is your deskmate," he announced. "I will be keeping a close eye to make sure everyone is working."

Alena peeked her head over the rows of people in front of her to hopefully get his attention without anyone else noticing, but he didn't see her. She raised her hand and cleared her throat.

"Professor Moody?"

"Yes?"

"I don't have a partner. Is it alright if I work independently?" She asked.

"Oh, right. Erm—" he was thinking of a solution when Draco's hand shot up in the air.

"Professor, I haven't got a partner either."

Alena closed her eyes and winced, sinking into her seat.

"Ah, well that solves our problem. Go ahead and join Miss Dumbledore. But I'm warning you now, Malfoy, don't you think about pestering that girl."

Draco glared at Moody while Alena threw her head back and looked at the ceiling briefly before facing forward again.

"No bloody way," she muttered under her breath.

"Goyle is usually my partner... he's just not here today." He had to make it seem like he wasn't secretly thrilled to be partnered with the Hufflepuff Angel. "Should I just—"

"Don't worry about it and go on, boy," Moody interrupted. "Gather your things and join Miss Dumbledore. Don't leave the lady waiting."

"Goyle said you two were cutting class today," Blaise said in a low voice from behind Draco.

"You weren't just... trying to get rid of him to be partnered with—" Pansy chimed in, tilting her head slightly in Alena's direction.

"What? Shut up. No," Draco replied in a hoarse whisper. He grabbed his book-bag and walked smugly towards Alena's desk. He slumped down on the chair next to her and rested his elbow on the wooden desktop. His hand covered his mouth; underneath it, he was having trouble containing a small smile.

Alena refused to look at him and started working on her own.

" _Lovegood_ , we're supposed to be working on this together."

"That's fine, I can do the work. It's just formulating combative spells and sequencing them in—"

"I know what the project is about. I take this class, too. Just like you."

"No, I know. I'm just saying, I've done this before. Had this same assignment at Ilvermorny a while back."

"I'm sure you're great with combat spells, since you're so good at _everything,_ " he said in a patronizing tone. "But I'm pretty good, too. We should split the work."

"I'm sure you are. I just thought you would prefer to—"

"Merlin, Lovegood, just spare me, alright? We're partners, so we both have to work."

"So you're okay with this?" she asked as she removed her cloak and rolled up the sleeves of her gray jumper. Her eyebrow was quirked and her lips were slightly pursed. She shifted her long wavy hair over to one side, some of it brushing against Draco's arm.

His eyes fell on her skirt. It was definitely charmed that day.

He gulped.

"It's not ideal, but whatever—it's a project. Perhaps when Goyle comes back I can switch partners."

Alena said nothing as she picked up her quill again and began writing on her parchment. They sat in awkward silence for a moment.

"Your hair," Draco uttered.

_Bloody hell._

It slipped out. He didn't mean to say it out loud.

"What?" Alena looked up at him with narrowed eyes.

"Your hair. You hadn't done the little..." he gestured to the top of his head and twirled his finger.

"My hair buns?" She gently touched her silver knots adorably.

"Yeah, those little knots."

"Oh yeah," she smiled shyly, almost as if she was close to warming up to him. "I hadn't done them in a while... I think I just felt a little—"

Draco felt himself panic at her sudden transparency. Ruining the general direction of their interaction came like second nature to him.

"Alright, I don't need a whole explanation or anything. I was just saying."

She sighed as she slammed her luxury quill on the desk, its silver ornate handle making a loud cracking noise as it hit against the wood. He looked down at it and realized it wasn't a quill at all, but a muggle pen with a feather end.

He was about to question her about it when she cut off his train of thought.

"Yeah, this won't work. You can begin _your_ assignment and I'll continue working on mine. That way tomorrow you can just partner with Goyle."

"Suit yourself," he responded, not knowing what else to say.

"I'll talk to Moody after class."

"Do what you want."

Alena's chair screeched like nails on a chalkboard as she moved as far as she possibly could from him.

After what felt like an eternity, Draco finally broke the silence again.

"I've been thinking, and I don't really know when Goyle will come back."

"I'm sure he'll be back tomorrow."

"You're better at spells than Goyle is," he said, balancing his chin on the palm of his hand, while his elbow rested on the desk.

She didn't look up from her parchment.

"Probably. But you find me unbearable, so..."

"Well, I'm willing to overlook that... you know, for the sake of my grade."

She turned to face him, head on.

"I understand that in the past five minutes you've somehow managed to reason with yourself and come to the conclusion that working with me wouldn't be the absolute worst thing in the world, in fact, it may even benefit you in some way—but I've already decided that there's really no good reason why I should make myself put up with your antics. I'm talking to Professor Moody after class. If he happens to take issue with it, I'll take the blame for it. I'll even pull the 'headmaster's granddaughter' card if necessary."

He rolled his eyes. "Seems like a lot of trouble to go through just to avoid working together."

"It's no trouble at all when we both find each other intolerable. And according to you I'm a master manipulator, remember? So it won't be any problem at all to convince him."

"Bloody hell, can you stop making yourself a victim?" He said arrogantly. "The dramatics..."

"I thought we had come to an agreement that other night. We were going to avoid each other at all costs. How was I supposed to know that Goyle would be out today?"

"Wonder where that tosser's at. It's all thanks to him that I'm even in this predicament," he replied.

"Ugh, who understands you?"

She raised her hand abruptly. "Professor Moody? Can I please talk to you privately for a moment?" Her voice echoed across the room.

Draco tugged at her arm. "I'll stop being an arse, alright? Just put your hand down. I'll stop," he pleaded in a hushed tone.

She peeled his grip from her arm.

"Nevermind. After class, Professor."

She looked at Draco in disbelief and pointed her manicured finger at her own temple.

"Are you mental? All of a sudden you want to work together? You're the one that said you'd be switching back to Goyle—"

"I already told you, I've thought about it better. I don't want to get behind on this project. I think I can power through."

"Yeah, well I can't. The only thing I'm _powering_ _through_ is the rest of this period next to you. Plus, I hardly think you'd fall behind on anything having to do with the Dark Arts. If Moody tries to make me work with you I will drop this bloody class."

"There she is," he sniggered.

"There who is? Typical Slytherin, getting pleasure out of aggravating me. I'd been doing so well."

" _You_ had been doing so well? Who are you trying to fool, Lovegood? You're obviously in the middle of a pathetic episode of some sort the way you've been moping around the castle, miserably dragging yourself from class to class. Stopped doing the knots and charming your skirt. Skipping meals. And last night, the state I found you in the Astronomy Tower. I mean, what was that? But sure, you've been doing so bloody well."

Alena paused and looked at him puzzled.

" _What_?" He asked.

"Erm," she cleared her throat and shifted uncomfortably in her seat. "Of course the day I start feeling just a tiny bit better I get stuck with you. I bet you're happy about that."

She refused to say another word for the remainder of the class, and Draco had seemingly given up on talking as well. When class was dismissed, Alena lingered like she said she would in order to talk to Moody. Draco was taking an awfully long time gathering his things and leaving the classroom.

"Miss Dumbledore, did you still need to speak to me?" Professor Moody called from the front of the room.

"Yes, Professor." She started to stand up when Draco gave her a sharp look and said, "Listen Lovegood, don't do it. Don't tell him you don't want to be partners if you know what's good for you. I swear to Salazar you'll regret it if you do."

"Bugger off," she said under her breath as she stood up and walked towards Professor Moody's desk.

It didn't take much to convince Moody to allow her to work independently. He understood perfectly how odious Draco Malfoy could be.

"Must've been tough working with that entitled little... erm... I understand. Turned him into a ferret not too long ago. Don't you worry about a thing."

"Thank you, Professor. Oh, and if it's not too much to ask, can you just make sure he's never too close to me? At least in your class?"

"Sure thing, dear. I'll keep an eye out."

She sighed in relief. "I appreciate it."

She felt a twinge of unfavorable and gloomy accumency manifesting itself, but she figured it was the effects of the potions she had taken earlier starting to wear off.

When she walked out of the room she was a tiny bit cheerful to have successfully gotten Draco off her back. That is, until a Slytherin robe sleeve reached out into the corridor and dragged her into a nearby alcove.

"What did I tell you?" Draco badgered with a firm grip on her arm. "I told you not to talk to Moody, didn't I?"

Alena stood frozen for a brief moment, shocked at Draco's sudden aggression and taking in the pain shooting from her arm.

"What has gotten into you? Let go of me, you pretentious git!" She tried pulling herself away from him, but his grip tightened around her.

"I thought you said you didn't need your wand to hex me? You're all talk—a defenseless little witch, aren't you?"

"Is that why you're after me? Because you think I'm defenseless? Has it ever crossed your brilliant mind that I haven't resorted to using magic because I happen to have an unfair advantage over you? You're an incompetent coward, and I could see that from a mile away! I thought after last night you would be civil towards me."

"You're the one that said that we shouldn't get too familiar," he said resentfully through gnashed teeth, pulling her even closer in.

"Is this not familiar? You're touching me against my will, you odious deviant! I will set you on fire!"

She hurled a wandless and nonverbal stinging jinx at him that hit him directly on the hand that was grabbing her by the arm.

"Ow! You bitch!" He shook his hand, which was quickly becoming swollen and patchy. "You should've listened to me, Lovegood. I don't appreciate it when I'm not listened to."

"And what makes you think I give a _fuck_ what you appreciate or not? You're a delusional prick, Malfoy. Why do you think you're better than me, huh?"

Draco was towering over her, prompting her to lift her head high in order to face him. Her throat was exposed, and she thought he might choke her at any given moment.

"Don't use that pretty little mouth of yours to curse at me. I'm not delusional at all and I don't think I'm better than you, I _know_ I am. You couldn't even fathom the amount of power and influence my family has in the wizarding world. And who are you? You're just the daughter of some old wizard's _bastard_ son."

Her eyes glazed over in thickened anger. She felt as if her blood and breath left her body as he spat those words.

Something snapped in her.

" _Fuck you,"_ she uttered. "And really? As opposed to _you_? You're just the son of a sorry excuse of a man! Your father is nothing but a sodding minion waiting around for Voldemort to come out of the shadows and give his life purpose again. Maybe if he'd have enough bollocks to admit his allegiance he'd still have at least a tiny sliver of dignity left. And not to be that person but who is your good-for-nothing father up against my 'old wizard' grandfather? Hmm?" Her body was shaking with pent up rage. "Sorry to break it to you, but your family is nothing but an embarrassment to the magical community."

His hand clasped around her wrist like a magnet, and he yanked her towards him. "Shut up, you disgusting blood-traitor!"

"You're hurting me, you piece of—"

"MR. MALFOY!"

It was her grandfather, finally back in the castle from his unknown whereabouts. She hadn't heard him shout that loudly since he questioned Harry about putting his name in the Goblet of Fire.

It made sense to her now—that she had felt some sort of relief that morning after days of pure misery. That, and she had finally resorted to taking a swig of Calming Draught and other soothing potions once and for all.

Dumbledore practically flew towards them, his velvet periwinkle robes waving behind him. The sight prompted Draco to unhandle her at once.

Alena watched as her grandfather fought to keep his composure, and she could see a slight tremor in his hand.

"Good job," she said to Draco under her breath.

"My office. Now," Dumbledore said coldly as he signaled Draco out of the alcove.

The platinum-haired wizard stared back defiantly, standing in place.

"Mr. Malfoy, do as I say."

Draco walked reluctantly ahead as the angered headmaster placed his arm around Alena and picked up her wrist.

"Are you alright, dear?"

"I'm fine, Grandpa. Where have you been?"

"Come with me," he replied, ignoring her question.

They walked swiftly behind Draco, the headmaster's protective grip around Alena's shoulder the entire way. He didn't let go of her until they arrived at the Griffin entrance of his office. Once in his quarters, Dumbledore took his place behind his desk and gestured for Draco to sit in one of the chairs before him.

"Sit."

"You too, Harlie."

The tension made Alena want to run out of the room. She never expected to be in this predicament.

"Mr. Malfoy, I assume you have a good enough reason," Dumbledore said slowly, pacing himself. "As to why I found you with your hands on this young lady? I advise you to be wise with your answer."

"For Merlin's sake, I didn't have my _hands_ on her. Ask her yourself, I'm sure she'll tell you I wasn't hurting her."

Dumbledore removed his crescent-moon eyeglasses.

"I did not ask if you hurt her, I asked _why_ your hands were on her. I seem to remember, not too long ago, a fellow Slytherin ended up badly beaten by your hand? And did you not draw your wand at Alena fairly recently in front of a crowd?"

Alena's eyes widened. She had no idea how he knew about that.

"Really? You went to tattle to your grandfather? Unbelievable," Draco said through a contemptuous sneer. "First of all, she was in the Slytherin common room. She had no business there."

"I'll take that as an admission of your despicable behavior. This is your third offense this year, Mr. Malfoy. I'll be sending an owl to your parents and discussing your status as a prefect with your head of house. Although, I'm sure Professor Snape will agree that it is about time you kiss your prefect badge goodbye."

"This is hardly an offense! Just because I touched her? What an abuse of power from your part, Headmaster! I refuse to accept this punishment, and I can assure you—as soon as my father hears about this he will be outraged!"

"I am no stranger to your father's scorn, Draco. I think I can handle his outrage."

Dumbledore gestured to Alena as Draco reluctantly turned his gaze toward her.

"In case it wasn't made abundantly clear to you before, this girl here is my granddaughter. If I ever see you around her or learn of you threatening her in any way, you will be _expelled_ from Hogwarts. Do you understand?"

Draco stood up. "I don't have to put up with this injustice. This is clearly favoritism."

Alena scoffed.

"How ironic," she chuckled wryly.

"What did you say?" Draco challenged.

" _I_ _said_ —how ironic. All of the sudden you're against favoritism. Of course, when you're not the beneficiary."

"Excuse me? This school has been showing favoritism to Gryffindors, especially Potter, Granger, and Weasley, since first year. And then _you_ came along."

"You're hardly a victim, Malfoy."

"I'm getting out of here," Draco said under his breath as he started toward the door.

"Come back at once, Mr. Malfoy. I am not done with you."

Draco stopped and turned to look at Dumbledore defiantly once again.

"I believe you owe Alena an apology."

Draco sneered.

"Apologize."

"Sorry... _Lovegood_ ," he spat with a grimace.

"Her name is Alena Dumbledore. You should refer to her as such," Dumbledore said calmly. "You should go to the infirmary to get that checked."

He pointed at Draco's swollen hand.

"I'm fine."

Draco huffed all the way out of the headmaster's office.

Alena was numb at this point. It suddenly dawned on her that Snape would make her confess her royal screw up to her grandfather soon. She had no idea how he would react when he found out she had been practicing some obscure magic she knew practically nothing about.

"I'm a Lovegood, too, Grandpa," she said, almost absent-mindedly.

"Yes, dear. I know."

✶

Draco lay in bed that evening with one arm behind his head and the other still red and swollen from Alena's stinging jinx. He had been stung many times before—back when Blaise, Theo, Crabbe, Goyle and himself would hex and jinx each other in the common room for fun.

Alena's jinx was different. It hadn't left a circular wound like stinging jinxes usually did. Her jinx had struck his skin like a bolt of lightning and it had cracked and spidered around his wrist and forearm. It had cut through the top layer of his skin in some parts, and burned others. The swelling and redness should've gone down on its own by lunchtime, yet the injuries left by her were very much still active and hurting. He could've easily gone to Madam Pomfrey to get it reversed, he thought, but he decided against it.

The corner of his mouth slowly curled up into a smile as he traced the raised skin with the pads of his fingers.

He hoped it left a scar. He recognized that it was quite sinister to feel this way. That a wound caused by Alena stirred up a genuine smile from him. That he felt like he had collected another item from her: her Hufflepuff robes, her muggle book, and a nasty scar.

That morning, he'd had the brilliant idea to end up as her partner. But once there, once he was next to her, up close and personal... he had panicked.

He had wanted to ask her if she'd had any breakfast and run to the kitchens to get her a muffin if she hadn't. He had wanted to take her rogue strands of silver hair that got all over her parchment as she wrote and gently place them behind her ear. He had wanted to know about her muggle pen which was masquerading as a quill.

He had wanted her to finish her sentence. Why had she stopped wearing her hair in knots?

_"I think I just felt a little—"_

A little what? He was afraid if he'd let her finish her sentence that he would have to say something helpful or comforting in return. He didn't know how to do that.

All he knew was hostility and acrimony.


	22. A Nightmare and a Dream

✶

_"Who's to say that_  
_dreams and nightmares_  
_aren't as real as_  
_the here and now?"_

John Lennon

✶

Alena opened her eyes abruptly and gasped for air frantically—waking from her profound sleep. She tried to lift her head, her arms, her legs, but every part of her body was rigid and heavy. She could feel herself exerting her body upwards with all her strength, but there was a thick blanket of gravity pushing down against her.

It felt like the ground beneath her was the mouth of a famished dementor—sucking not only her soul, but her entire body deep into the core of the earth.

Her head lolled from side to side, panic-stricken by her surroundings. She was lying on the cold ground of an old, abandoned graveyard. She could tell it was on a high and very steep hill, as she could see a small town in the distance through random patches of fog.

Her only companion was—

 _Dread_ , again. Miserable, miserable, dread. It wrapped itself around her like an unbreakable vow, searing and sizzling into her skin.

It was like the universe was promising her suffering and torment. It was coming.

_What is dread anyway?_

She asked herself. She had given up on lifting her body off the ground.

Dread was anticipatory terror.

But _this_ dread—it was a special message, kind of like ones sent through corporeal _Patronus_ charms.

This dread felt like it had been cast by a most evil entity with tangible intent, and sent to torment her with vague indications of what her future held.

She was trying so hard to scream. Her insides felt like they were on the verge of rupture; like there was a stopper right at the precipice of her hypopharynx preventing her voice from escaping her body cavity.

But her agonizing shrieks and cries still filled the inside of her head. And her throat was still tearing itself to shreds.

_Sleep paralysis. I'm not really here._

All of the sudden, Professor Moody appeared. He was standing over her, watching as the tears rolled from the corners of her eyes and were caught by the ridges of her ears. He captured one with his finger, and started to laugh.

And just like that—he vanished and she became unconscious for an undetermined amount of time.

When she opened her eyes again, she could finally move; but she was still in the same dismal graveyard.

She tried standing up, but it was as if the world was tipping on its side—causing her to topple over onto her knees.

She heard something at a distance.

" _That's my son! That's my boy!_ " The voice of a man in deep despair.

The rest of the nightmare was a fleeting delirium. Some things transpired in a painstakingly slow manner, others happened much too fast to even register. It was like every time she closed and opened her eyes there was a new image projected before her.

One moment she was falling backward in slow-motion from the top of the Astronomy Tower. The next moment she was falling forward at full speed from the top floor of the Ministry.

But no matter what, she always ended up in the graveyard.

Voldemort. Death Eaters. Harry.

Some sort of disturbing ritual took place.

And then there was Ced.

_Cedric? What is he doing here?_

He was smiling at her, charming as ever—holding the Triwizard Cup over his head. Victorious.

She closed her eyes. Opened them. He was dead.

" _That's my son! That's my—"_

She squeezed her eyes shut and when they opened again, she was finally back in her four poster bed. Her body was drenched in a salty mixture of sweat and tears.

Without a second thought, she ran to the girls' community bathroom and threw herself under an ice-cold shower—fully dressed.

She cried, and cried.

_It was only a nightmare. You're fine. It's not real._

She cried some more. Until she finally resolved to go find Cedric. Yes, it was nearly two o'clock in the morning, but she had to see him.

✶

"Ced?" She whispered. "Cedric?"

Alena stood next to his bed for a moment, watching his chest rise and fall with life. Relief dripped down her heart like golden treacle.

She was just contemplating whether she should disrupt his sleep or go back to her room when Cedric woke up unexpectedly.

"Woah, what the hell?" He jumped out of bed and stood in a corner of his private dorm room, his wand drawn.

"Shh... It's just me," Alena assured him. "I had a horrible nightmare. I'm so sorry, I should've waited 'til morning."

He rubbed his eyes with the knuckles of his index fingers.

"Lena? Come here," he reached out for her and hugged her, tucking her head underneath his chin. "Is everything alright?"

"No," she said, tears escaping her polychromatic eyes. "It was a very bad dream, Cedric. The worst. I needed to see you."

"I'm here, see? Come lie down for a bit," he led her to his bed and tucked her under the covers, then positioned himself behind her. "Don't cry, Lena. Everything's okay."

"How much longer, though?" She whispered, wiping away her tears and sniffling.

"Don't know," he said, stroking her hair delicately. "But everything's okay now, isn't it? Don't you feel safe right now?"

There was brief silence, save for the wind whooshing outside.

"Yes."

"Smile for me," Cedric shifted in place, lifting his upper body upon his elbow against the bed and leaning into her. He rested his free hand on her face gently, with his thumb pressed just beneath her bottom lip.

The room was dim, Alena's face illuminated by the flickering flame of a candle she'd lit and placed on Cedric's nightstand while he slept.

The corner of her mouth curled up, and she gave him a feeble half-smile.

Her eyes shifted from his dark grey eyes down to his cherry lips, causing her to salivate and gulp.

The strapping wizard's fingers brushed against her cheek, and he dragged his touch down to her neck and shoulder—ever-so-slowly.

She shuddered as goosebumps took over her skin. Up to that moment, Alena's thoughts had been consumed by the nightmare she'd had, and by the alleviation she'd felt to see him alive and well. She hadn't even realized Cedric was wearing nothing but pajama bottoms—his toned upper body completely exposed. She was suddenly made keenly aware of her own attire: a skimpy rose pink silk cami and shorts pajama set.

It was clear to her now, that Cedric had noticed immediately the possibility of— _impropriety_ , for lack of a better word. Two young bodies, alone in a room with subdued lighting and a bed.

"Cedric," she whispered.

"Hmm?"

"This isn't—" she exhaled, hard. "This isn't what I came for. I promise."

She said it in such a way that made it clear that she was surrendering to what was about to take place.

"Can it be what you stay for?"

He twisted his finger around the delicate strap of her silk cami, then softly traced the lacy trim that draped over her breasts.

"Please?"

She inhaled, slowly—trying so badly to stabilize her breathing.

She slid her knees up and pressed her legs together tightly. The space between them was suddenly a sultry, summer's day—seething with heat and lewd humidity.

She didn't say a word, but she knit her eyebrows together pleadingly.

_Please._

"I just want to make you feel good," he huffed into her ear. "That's all."

His mouth and tongue painted pictures of pleasure across her jaw and neck, prompting her back to arch, her chest to rise, and dance to the rhythm of her severe panting. Like a choreographed routine, Cedric snaked his hand around her waist and down the deep ridge of her back, pulling her even closer to him as he continued to kiss her collarbones.

Her hardened nipples poked through the flimsy fabric of her shirt and rubbed against Cedric's bare body. She closed her eyes and felt him straddle her and pin her arms down over her head against the bed. Using his teeth, he pulled her cami up just over her breasts.

He drew slow circles around her perky and pink rose buds—then sucked until they slipped out of his wet mouth. She loved that—she loved the feeling and the sound of her tits popping in and out of his eager mouth.

She could feel his hard dick between both of their writhing bodies, hitting against her navel like a throbbing reminder that he would eventually need to be relieved.

Her mind was just beginning to wonder where Cedric's beseeching member would end up that evening, when she felt his hand drift down between her legs, pulling her silk shorts to the side and digging around gently before finding her clit in the midst of her dewy tenderness.

A small moan escaped her throat.

He slid his finger across her pussy, collecting her sweet nectar and rubbing it against her clit—aware of the extreme sensitivity it caused upon her most coveted clump of nerves. High-pitched and breathy moans became impossible to keep inside her body cavity; no matter how much pressure she exerted within her hypopharynx, the sounds ran out of her mouth like desperate fugitives.

Cedric resorted to kissing her to keep her mouth shut—swiping his tongue ferociously across hers, sucking on her raspberry lips.

Ironically, kissing her on the lips is what finally produced an audible groan from Cedric.

"You taste like—" he kissed her again, "like a fucking—" and again, "berry-flavoured sugar quill."

He snogged her and fingered her simultaneously, his pace and aggression increasing in the best possible way.

"Cedric," she panted. "Can you— _please_?"

He stopped and looked at her smugly.

"Can I please... what? Where do you want me?"

"Your mouth... _there_."

His smile grew sinisterly, exposing his brilliant teeth and his great delight in the very dirty and very bad things he would be performing on her.

Without a word, he stood at the foot of the bed—pulling her closer to the edge by the hips and moving her silk shorts to the side, revealing her precious and sweet slit.

He wasted no time and dove into her like he'd been deprived of water and food for ages. She could feel his mouth dripping with desire as he licked and sucked her zealously.

Alena threw her head back as he placed both of his hands on her rear and pushed her hips up into his face, applying a perfect amount of pressure combined with a perfect cadence against her swollen bud. She bit down on her bottom lip and smiled, relishing in the gratifying tingling sensations that were traveling to various focal points of her smooth body.

She rolled her hips periodically faster into his mouth—until finally she tensed up and jerked her body erotically, the palm of her hand pushing back on Cedric's forehead, indicating her arrival at the apex of pure pleasure.

Cedric threw himself on the bed beside her and watched proudly as her body twitched every few seconds, still taken over by the wave of bliss produced by him.

After a few minutes, she turned to look at him—her eyes shifting slowly down to his trousers.

"I don't expect anything, Lena," he whispered. "Don't feel pressured."

She raked her fingers through his wispy, chestnut brown hair and sighed.

"It's only fair, isn't it?" She smiled mischievously.

He coiled his arm around her waist and propped her up on top of him, and together they removed his trousers, sending his erection flying forward and tapping against his abdomen. She sat over his shaft teasingly, only the thin fabric of her shorts between them, and he manipulated her hips to get her to start rolling her body against his. She leaned forward and began kissing him as she rocked against his unyielding shaft, not yet inside her.

His hands were roaming around her waist and grabbing at her breasts from under her cami, twisting and feeling the softness and hardness of her skin. After a few moments of her teasing him with her titillating movements—he finally flipped her on her back and straddled her once again.

He used one hand to pull her shorts to the side, and the other to maneuver his cock into her opening—swiping it up and down her slit to tease her back and then gently pushing himself inside her with a virile grunt.

He gave a few slow thrusts forward, positioning his hands at the sensual place where her full hips merged with her fleshy thighs. More groans and grunts slipped away from his mouth.

" _Fuck_..."

He picked up his pace, thrusting desperately and watching Alena's breasts bounce in a circular motion rapidly.

"Ced— _ah_ ," she whimpered. "Cedric— _Mmm_."

"Say my name, babe," he drawled. "I'm so close."

"Please, Cedric—it feels so— _good_."

" _Ugh_ —yes,"the slapping sounds of their movements intensified, and with one last passionate plunge, Cedric leaned his upper body forward. He held onto the bed with one arm and pulled himself out from Alena's tight core with the other, aiming and spilling the evidence of his satisfaction onto her stomach.

 _"_ Sorry," he breathed harshly, trying to catch air in his lungs. "I'll clean it up in a second."

He continued leaning against the bed with one arm on his hip, and he shook his head while smiling gleefully.

"I feel like I just won the fucking Triwizard Cup."

He lay on the bed next to her again, and they looked at each other before bursting into laughter.

He reached his hand towards his nightstand to grab his wand, but when he looked back all of his mess had disappeared from Alena's abdomen.

"What did you do with that?" He asked, his nose scrunched up.

"I gathered it inside a little vial and I intend to use it for a potion," she giggled. "I _scoured_ it, you tosser. Don't need a wand for it."

"You're always looking to outdo me, aren't you?" He teased, tousling her silver locks.

"I could never, Diggory. You're a bloody Triwizard champion."

They lay quietly in bed for a several moments, both staring at the canopy of Cedric's four poster bed and trying to steady their breathing.

"Erm—so a weird thought's just entered my brain," Alena said, breaking the silence.

"What is it?"

"Remember how the Affinity Chalice chose me as your valuable... and you said it was because you grew fond of me... in a _brotherly_ kind of way?"

Cedric's hand flew up to his mouth as he tried to hold in his laughter.

"Yeah... that was rubbish," he chuckled. "Complete and utter rubbish."

"Good," she said, smiling. "That would've been really awkward."

He kissed her on the forehead before wrapping her in his arms, her head tucked underneath his chin. After stroking her hair and twirling it in his fingers for a while, they both drifted into a peaceful sleep. This time, Alena's dreams were placid and undisturbed—the antithesis of her earlier nightmares.

✶

On the opposite side of the castle, a restless Draco sat in the deserted and dark Slytherin common room, his only companion being the white and brown cat that somehow always managed to be around when he needed the support of a familiar. He wasn't one of the lucky wizard folk who had been bonded to one. He just had his eagle owl, Argyle, but he was strictly meant for sending and delivering his post.

That night, Draco had been woken up by sudden and harrowing spurs of pain encircling his wounded hand and wrist; the injuries from Alena's jinx had begun tormenting him in the middle of the night. It was as if the scars had a life of their own, and they moved and constricted around his arm like pythons the size of garden snakes. He sat for hours inspecting them and trying to figure out what sort of spell she'd used, while applying a pain-relief charm every once in ten minutes.

He hated her that night. He hated her for being so powerful, yet so restrained. He hated her for being so kindhearted and benevolent, yet somehow also being vicious and brutal. He hated that he wanted all of it. He wanted to encounter her tenderness, and endure her wrath.

He understood then that she hadn't jinxed him and she hadn't hexed him. She had cursed him.


	23. Enemies, Friends, Lovers

✶

_"Friends ask you questions;_   
_enemies question you."_

Criss Jami

✶

Alena flipped what felt like the hundredth page of a book on magical creatures she'd read occasionally to comfort her fogged up mind. She would read it slowly, sometimes even the same pages twice or thrice—to make sure the information stuck to the insides of her brain.

Demiguises.

She knew all there was to know about them. She knew where they originated from, what they ate, and what their hair was used for. She knew that a demiguise plus a ghoul equaled a hidebehind. She knew that their eyes turned bright blue when they were using their precognitive sight. She knew it since third year, thanks to Hagrid. He had just been appointed as professor of Creature Care and practiced many of his lessons with Alena that summer.

But she was reading the section on demiguises once again, like if it were the first time, paying special attention to the intricate drawings. They looked like an adorable cross between a sloth and an emperor tamarin.

She licked the pad of her thumb, and flipped the page again. Diricrawls were next.

Diricrawls. Diri. Di—Diggory.

With just one thought, her entire magical creature smokescreen was cleared away and Cedric Diggory was at the front and center once again.

It had been almost a week since their— _encounter—_ in his bedroom. She squeezed her eyes shut as images from that night flashed across her brain. Skimpy satin shorts that were pushed to the side more than once. Breathy moans and panting bodies. Wetness—from their sweat, from his mouth, from between her legs.

_It wasn't a mistake._

Then why did she have to convince herself it wasn't?

It was good. They both enjoyed it. She couldn't think of a better person to experience her first time with than Cedric Diggory. She was lucky—he was tender and he actually made her come. Twice. From what she had heard around the girls' dorm, many of them hadn't even come their first time. Or their second, for that matter.

He made it abundantly clear that he wanted more of it—more of her. And she cared about him, deeply. Perhaps that was the reason why she decided to stay away and not give in.

Maybe he and Cho would patch things up.

Maybe Alena was just afraid of hurting him.

_It wasn't a mistake. Perhaps it was just... an accident?_

There were perfectly comfortable places to sit at the library, but Alena preferred to sit on the floor with her knees slightly bent and her book on her lap.

She was at the end corner of one of the more secluded aisles in the Magical Creatures section, and yet—Draco found her. It was a Thursday evening, so George would be finding her soon, too.

The presumptuous platinum-haired wizard watched her for a few seconds before gathering up the audacity to disturb her. As always, her perfectly manicured index finger was tapping on the hard cover of the book, and her diamond-encrusted serpent ring teased him from across the aisle.

His eyes shuddered when they fell on her skirt—a white, knife-pleated little skirt that went up to her waist.

"You cursed me," he said calmly. "You arrogant little—witch."

"You asked for it," she replied, her eyes glued onto the page about diricrawls. "You're welcome."

"I did not. But if I did ask for anything, it was for a simple hex or perhaps a silly jinx. Are you always this severe?"

"Malfoy, I gave you not half of what you deserved," she scoffed. "I wasn't severe. I was quite lenient. That curse could be a thousand times worse."

Alena's head was facing down toward her book, but she finally gave in and redirected her eyes up at Draco. He had both of his hands inside the pockets of his navy blue trousers, so she couldn't see his injured wrist. He brought his right hand to his face and pushed his caramel-coloured tortoise glasses up the ridge of his nose. She'd never seen him wearing glasses before.

Draco hesitated for a moment before finally sitting down on the ground across from the seemingly indifferent witch, with his back leaned against one of the bookshelves. He was so tall that even with his legs slightly bent, his feet were still nearly touching the adjacent bookshelf.

He noticed that she was startled by his decision to sit on the floor with her—a sudden twitch in her eye gave her away. Unbeknownst to him, her heart rate began to speed up with anticipation of another one of their heated arguments, which she had no doubt in her mind was about to occur.

She wished she was a demiguise. Then she could've used precognitive sight to see Draco approaching her aisle, and she could instantly make herself invisible to him. But she was just a witch with a shitty sense of accumency, and no one to teach her how to properly use it.

"Sure, Lovegood. Anyway, I spoke with Snape. He said Dumbledore changed his mind about removing me as prefect. I guess he wasn't able to ' _handle my father's scorn,'_ was he?" He said boastfully, as he raked his fingers through his silver locks, and made air quotes with his free hand.

Alena couldn't help but smirk at his delusion, which very conveniently served as a way to hide the tiny smile that was fighting to emerge out of pure pleasure. Draco looked dashing in glasses. So donnish and sedulous that her curved and silken eyelashes fluttered, unprompted.

"No," she drawled in sing-song. "He was. I just—I actually asked him to reconsider your punishment."

Draco scoffed as he swiped his hand over his mouth and chin, trying to hide a smile as well.

"What? Why would you do that?"

His eyes were fixed on her succulent and moist lips. She pursed them for a second before parting them, and then she glided her thumb across her bright red tongue before using it to flip another page of her book.

His eyes blinked slowly as he observed her face light up with whatever she saw on the new page she was on.

It was a nice photograph of a diricrawl, which reminded her of the one Hagrid had taught her how to handle and care for, and even let her keep inside her mint suitcase the whole summer. She had felt like Newt Scamander—he'd definitely had diricrawls in his suitcase. They were beautifully peculiar creatures, like her. She always thought it was a shame that muggles believed them to be extinct.

"That's rather... friendly of you," Draco said irresolutely. "Why would you do that for me?"

Alena shrugged.

"Who cares—as long as you're still a prefect, right? Although I do feel bad for all the poor students you undoubtedly torment with your blatant abuse of authority. That really is the smallest amount of power I've ever seen go to someone's head."

"Wait a minute. Is it because you feel bad for cursing me?"

"Does it hurt?" Alena asked with what appeared to be genuine concern. Draco was confused by it, but seemed to be receptive to it.

He cleared his throat and examined his left hand and wrist.

"Not always. But when it does, it hurts like a bitch. Madam Pomfrey had no idea how to reverse it," he said with a crooked smile. "I have to admit, the scarring's actually pretty wicked. What kind of curse is it and who taught it to you?"

Alena closed the book and tossed it on the ground next to her. She fiddled with her socks, pulling them up over her knees and adjusting them. He didn't think she realized, but he could sort of see her bum when she shifted her legs. Or maybe she was doing it on purpose. He never knew with that girl.

"No one taught it to me," she finally said. "I created it. It's a mixture of several hexes and jinxes."

She knew this was where their conversation would go south. Draco's face turned red with fury, as she expected. He jumped up off the ground and walked to where she was sitting, towering over her.

"Are you out of your _fucking_ mind? You cursed me with an experimental spell? You could've killed me!"

"Oh, boy," she sighed. "Just relax, okay? I practiced it a million times."

"On who?"

"Don't worry about it," she said casually, lifting herself off the ground, smoothing down her skirt, and tucking in her skin-tight peridot green blouse. She was cold. He could tell because he could see her nipples poking through her shirt.

 _Dear gods,_ he thought.

For a second, he forgot about what they were talking about entirely. For a second, he was dropping to his knees in front of her, wrapping his arms around her body, and just tucking his head into her breasts. For a second, one of his hands was sliding down the small of her back and landing on her curved hip, while the other hand was sliding _up_ her fleshy thigh with outstretched fingers and landing on her even fleshier bum. For a second—he was untucking her peridot green blouse from her pure white tennis skirt and kissing her all around her navel.

"I don't feel bad for cursing you," her taunting voice brought him back to the reality in which they hated each other's guts.

"If I ask whether it hurts it's because I really fucking hope it does," she smiled. He wanted to pick her up over his shoulder and just carry her away.

Draco's jaw twitched and his nostrils flared.

"How are you a Hufflepuff?" He blurted. It was all he could think of.

"I'm very _loyal,"_ she replied instantly, "to the idea of requital. I'm very _fair_. I remember every foul word you've uttered to me, and now, you will too every time you look at your scars. I think that's fair." She grabbed him by the wrist and surveyed the bolts of scars on it. Some were healed, and some were not.

"How dare you?" He spat, taking his arm back. "Reverse it. Now."

"How dare I? You seek for me, Draco. That's something we can both agree on, right? I thought once you realized this was a curse, you'd stop. But apparently you are relentless."

"I _am_ relentless. That's what makes me a true Slytherin," he grabbed her by the arm and drew her in.

"I'm relentless, too," she said, allowing her body be manipulated by his pull. The pads of his fingers slid down her arm slowly, sending shivers down her spine and causing her skin to break out in goosebumps. He was so much taller than her that when she lifted her head to look at his face, her throat was so vulnerably exposed. His chin was nearly touching his chest as he leaned into her. He could feel her breath on his lips, and her abdomen pressed against his groin.

"I can curse your other hand and I promise you you'll never catch another Snitch or perform an intricate spell again in your life. Let—go—of—me," she said in a sensual whisper.

He wanted to taste whatever glossy and shimmery substance was painted on her lips.

Draco cleared his throat and did as Alena said, albeit reluctantly. He pulled aggressively on the collar of his Oxford shirt to untie his tie and undo the top buttons.

He wanted to strangle her, but not really. He wanted his hands on her neck, but not choke her.

She was so incredibly frustrating, but not nearly frustrating enough. He didn't bother saying another word, and began walking towards the opening of the aisle.

"Wait—Draco," she called out. He had called him Draco twice in this encounter. He bit the inside of his cheek.

"By any chance have you seen my book? _The Alchemist—_ I was reading it up in the Astronomy Tower... that one night. Did you happen to pick it up?"

The bewildered wizard narrowed his eyes and removed his spectacles, rubbing the bridge of his nose with his thumb and index finger, his own bulky snake ring teasing her from across the aisle.

Her voice was sweet now. Well, it was always sweet—even when she was threatening to curse him. But now it was sweeter. Much, much sweeter.

"Yes," he uttered. "As a matter of fact, I did. And then I chucked it into the Black Lake, just like I did with Granger's copy of the same book. If you want to be a fucking muggle so bad, then why are you here?"

"I will ransack your bloody dormitory—"

"So do it," he interrupted. "Apparently you're even more entitled than I am, if that's even possible."

With that, Draco stormed out of the aisle in his signature dramatic fashion, which prompted Alena to roll her eyes amusingly.

"It's not," she said to herself, as she picked up the book from the ground and sent it up to place itself back on the top shelf.

She saw Harry walk past quickly, then slowly lean his body backwards to peek into her aisle.

"Hey, George has been looking for you all over the library like a bloody lunatic. It won't be long until Madam Pince kicks him out."

"He didn't think to look in the Magical Creatures section first?" She crossed her arms playfully.

"Apparently not, but I did. Alena, I've been meaning to ask you something."

"Ask away, Potter," she said. "Just don't ask me to go into that maze in your place."

Harry let out a forced chuckle. She could tell he was a ball of nerves, and with good reason. The final task of the tournament was set for the very next day.

Just thinking about it, she was nervous, too.

She looked at him with patient expectancy as she swung her witch's cape over her shoulders and tied a neat bow around her neck with its satin ribbon drawstrings.

"So—about a week ago," Harry began with vacillation. "I—well, I noticed that—"

"Noticed what?"

"I noticed that you wandered away from your dorm room... _very_ late at night."

She thought he must have seen her the night she went up to the Astronomy Tower. Maybe he saw Draco too and thought there might be something between them.

Alena laughed nervously. "I wander often, Harry. Just like you. So, what's the question?"

"You were in the Hufflepuff boys' dormitories," He blurted. His eyebrows were pointed and he looked at her with a tinge of mirthful suspicion.

Alena's mind began to race.

How could Harry possibly know this? Could it be that Cedric divulged what had happened that night? He wouldn't.

But what if he was upset because she refused to take it further with him? He hadn't seemed upset with her at all, just distant.

_You stupid, stupid girl. How could you think this wouldn't affect your friendship?_

_How could you think you could trust someone this much?_

"So what's the question?" She asked curtly. "And how in the world would you know exactly where I was?" She could feel herself going pale and red all at the same time, if that was even possible.

"Erm—I've got this thing called the Marauder's Map. It's sort of a map of—"

"A map of Hogwarts, yeah, I know about it. George told me. So you saw me in the Hufflepuff boys' dormitories one night and now you've got a question. What is it?"

A speck of relief allowed a bit of tension to subside.

"Right," Harry stood awkwardly, fiddling with the sleeves of his jumper. "My question is... are you and Cedric—you know, together? Because I—please don't tell anyone, but I sort of fancy Cho and I'd really—"

"No, Harry. Cedric and I aren't together. I had a horrible nightmare about him that night and I went to see him. Nothing happened. And well, it's not really my place to say, but it's my understanding that Cedric and Cho are broken up."

Harry's bright green eyes widened.

"For what it's worth, Lena, I'd rather see you in the Hufflepuff boys' dormitories than in the Slytherin common room," he said through a crooked smile.

"For what it's worth, Harry, I'd rather you not spy on me at all," she warned playfully, tousling his unruly hair. "Show me this Marauder's Map. How can I disappear from it?" she asked as they walked out of the aisle towards the main walkway of the library.

Harry shrugged. "Your grandfather asks that I keep tabs on you."

"My grandfather probably has no idea you have this map in your possession, Harry."

"Perhaps not."

✶

The next day, Alena strode through the castle, making her way to the quidditch pitch, where the third and final Triwizard task would be taking place within the hour. When she arrived, she was all alone with the soaring and snowy hedges of the maze that had been grown and curated by Hagrid since the beginning of the school year.

Alena dragged her teeth over her plump bottom lip as she glanced around for any sign of life. There was something eerily deafening about the silence surrounding her. She had expected there to be people bustling around in preparation for the event, but there was no one.

She fixed her eyes on the aperture of the maze and stood frozen as it appeared to grow bigger and bigger—inviting her in and almost swallowing her whole.

Accumency or madness? She wasn't even sure anymore. To be fair, she had never been sure to begin with.

_You'll drive yourself mad!_

_Mad._

_Mad._

She heard Professor Snape's deep, judgmental voice echo from within the maze, shouting the same words he had shouted at her in his office the day he found out she was practicing accumency. She knew he wasn't there at all, but his voice continued to reverberate inside her head, making her skin crawl. It sounded so real.

He had agreed to keep her secret from her grandfather just until after the final task, but not a single day later.

"Lena."

It was Cedric's gentle and calm voice—interrupting and shattering the echo of Snape's spine-chilling scolding.

"Thanks for meeting me here."

Alena shook her head lightly, relieved to be back in reality again.

"Of course, Ced," she replied with a distracted smile. "Is everything alright? Your owl nearly smashed through my window this morning."

He looked at the maze behind her like if it was growing bigger and bigger for him, too.

"I needed to see you," he said, wrapping his arms around her cautiously. "I don't know if I can do this, Alena. Tell me I can do this, please."

She closed her eyes, bracing herself for the lies she'd have to weave into the truth. She would tell him she believed wholeheartedly that everything would be alright, even though she did not. She would not be the one to tear him away from his objective on the basis of her—

_Unreliable. Fucking. Accumency._

A fancy word for "gut feeling."

She opened her eyes and met his gaze with tenderness.

"You are _the_ Triwizard Champion, okay? There's not a doubt in my mind," she grabbed his face and tucked her fingers behind his ears. "Look at me. Your dad is already incredibly proud of you, and so is all of Hufflepuff and Hogwarts. You're so brave, Cedric. Later tonight, when the tournament is over and you've won, I know what you'll take the most pride in."

"What's that?"

"In the experience you've gained. You'll feel a lot more prepared for what's to come. You'll feel a lot less afraid."

"But what if I fail?"

"Cedric Diggory, you are a force of nature," she smiled. "A powerful wizard in your very own right."

Cedric stared at her lips, waiting for her to continue.

"You won't fail. You've already accomplished so much."

"Will you be here when I come out of the maze?" He tucked a stray strand of her silver locks behind her ear. "Win or lose?"

"Of course I will. Everything will be alright," She tried her best not to wince at her own words, "I promise." 

They hugged again, and Alena squeezed her eyes shut as she leaned her head against his shoulder. She swallowed her tears, knowing that if Cedric perceived even a shred of her incertitude, it would hurt him. 

She felt a light tickling on her nose that felt like cold powdered sugar. When she opened her eyes, she could see that snow was falling from the sky almost in slow motion and some had already accumulated on her eyelashes. Her face was so warm that she could feel droplets of melted snow resting on her cheeks.

"It's starting," she whispered unknowingly.

"What?" Cedric pulled away to look at her face. "What's starting?"

"To snow," she smiled. It wasn't a genuine smile. 


End file.
